


Devotedly, Anon.

by NightReaderEnigma



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Anonymous Love Notes, Canon - Book, Canon Compliant, Developing Relationship, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Love Confessions, POV Brienne of Tarth, POV Jaime Lannister, Post - A Dance With Dragons, Romance, Sexual Content, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, True Love, Valentine's Day Fluff, cringe-worthy poems, or Westerosi equivalent 'Sonnet Sennight', saccharine sweetness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-02-28
Packaged: 2021-02-22 11:43:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 20,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22715521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NightReaderEnigma/pseuds/NightReaderEnigma
Summary: It's 'Sonnet Sennight' in Westeros.  A celebration of romance and courting.  A week where suitors woo the object of their desire and fair maids send love notes to the Knights who make them swoon.You may choose to reveal your identity or remain anonymous, but the name of the game is romance.Brienne has always dreaded the celebration.Jaime has always laughed in its face.But this year there is fundamental difference - their unexpressed love for each other and the opportunity the occasion presents to reveal the inner beatings of their hearts.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister & Brienne of Tarth, Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 319
Kudos: 311





	1. Day 1: Packages

**Author's Note:**

> Notes on Canon Compliance: This fic is set post LSH. Let's say that Jaime and Brienne fought their way out of that situation, saving Podrick and Hyle, before returning to King's Landing. During their time on the road and facing down the Brotherhood, both Jaime and Brienne's feelings intensified. Both are now aware they have affection for each other but neither have acted upon it or acknowledged its presence to anyone but themselves. 
> 
> <3 <3 <3 <3 <3
> 
> Happy Valentine’s Day!  
> This is one of those stories which took on its own life force and is sooo sickly sweet I probably should be cringing instead of sharing – but instead here I am! Because if any theme calls for fluff, it is Valentine’s Day. It began as a one-shot but turned into a simplistic multi-chapter as my ideas kept coming. I apologise for any errors and state in advance that if you are looking for quality? This is not the tale. But if you would just like to bask in Jaime and Brienne themed saccharine? Look no further! LOL 
> 
> I set a challenge to myself last year that I would not miss writing a Braime fic for each special occasion so I was determined the 14th of February would be no exception. Only – I’m running a little behind in completing it. My excuse? Today is my birthday. (Yes, I am a Valentine’s baby).  
> So, I make this promise – I will finish it by the end of February.
> 
> A HUGE thank you to Ro_Nordmann for making the beautiful cover art. She is sooo talented. I love it! <3
> 
> Hugs to all! <3

“My Lady Ser… where are you going?” 

Brienne tightened the straps on her saddlebag, tugging with more emphasis than was necessary. Her horse stomped its feet, sensing her agitation. “Away. Just for the week.”

“Were you planning to go without me?” The boy sounded so forlorn at the prospect; all she could do was sigh. Throwing her head back and contemplating the expanse of winter sky. 

The stables of the Red Keep were busy, a bustling hive of activity. But that was to be expected, an everyday occurrence in the Capital; where the stronghold teemed with the comings and goings of Knights and Soldiers. It was a far cry from her tranquil home at Evenfall. 

_And the more people – the worse this will be._

“Yes and no, Podrick.” Brienne answered with defeat, turning to face her trusted Squire. The lad stood staring at her with big puppy-dog eyes, a dark circlet running beneath his chin which matched her own. The injuries from their encounter with the Brotherhood may heal – but the scars on both their flesh and psyche would remain as constant reminders. “If you must know, I did not give much thought to my departure.” He had succeeded in making her feel guilty and foolish, fleeing from her problems instead of meeting them head on. “I just – wanted to go.” 

“Why?” 

He wouldn’t understand, couldn’t understand. He was a boy green as summer grass, with the world at his feet and still the capability of optimism. Whereas she was a maiden who had seen the turn of over twenty name days. 

_Meaning I have suffered through at least nine of these weeks of torture._

Out of the horse’s pack she produced a seal. The small stamp whittled from timber with a heart shaped metal plate on the end. She toyed with it between her fingers, rolling it over and over. 

_Such an innocuous thing – to bring so much misery._

“This was delivered to my room this morning.” She passed it to Podrick for inspection. “You are past adolescence; most likely you received a package as well.”

“I did.” He nodded, handing it back to her. “I got a seal, a bundle of parchment bound with twine and several cubes of red wax. But I didn’t know what it was for…”

“You were not raised in Courtly life…” Brienne wrapped a large arm around his shoulders, leading her horse away from the mounting yard. Steering all three of them far from listening ears. “You would not be familiar with the practices – unfortunately I am.” 

“What does it mean?”

“It marks the start of Sonnet Sennight.” 

She stopped them underneath a tree, leaning against the trunk whilst her palfrey nuzzled about in the snowdrifts, searching for anything it could munch on. 

“Amongst nobility it is a celebration of romance and courting. A week where suitors may woo the object of their desire and fair maids may send love notes to the Knights who make them swoon.”

She folded her arms across her flat chest. “Or that’s what they say at least. The truth is - it’s a week where rejection mocks you openly. Where beautiful women flaunt their inundation of odes and I watch on having received nothing. Though it is even worse when I actually am a recipient. Only two kinds of notes are destined for my hand: Disingenuous scribblings spouting trite compliments, the variety reeking of pity. Generally, the result of an older knight feeling sorry for me, as though they were throwing the beggar dog a bone. Or efforts to court my birthright. Enamoured with the possibility of a Lordship rather than me. Faced with those options I would prefer the slot under my door remain bare.” 

His expression was compassion and uncertainty. Wanting to convey his empathy but knowing it was not what she wanted. They were both misfits, it was why they gravitated together, nothing further need be addressed. After a pause he took a deep breath, instead choosing to shift the subject and ask. “Is that how it works? Letters are delivered to each other?” 

“Yes. Notes, poems or sonnets are written and slipped under your chamber door. Men receive red wax to seal their contents, women rose. It is up to the author whether they choose to sign their name or remain anonymous.” 

Podrick fell silent, contemplating all she had said. She could see the cogs turning within his mind.

“So you are leaving M’Lady? Rather than take part?”

“Pod – I would sooner gallop headlong into a blizzard than endure another Sonnet Sennight.”

“B-but…” Her Squire trailed off, halting his sentence and studying his feet instead. 

“Speak freely.” Brienne encouraged. “You may be honest with me.” 

“I-I should have liked to join in.” He drew nondescript patterns in the snow with the tip of his boot. “I’m too shy to talk to girls. But I know my letters. I could write notes if I didn’t have to put my name on it. Though I will go with you - if you are travelling Ser. Please don’t leave me behind.” 

_He wants to stay. I know the affliction of shyness. Who am I to deprive the boy?_

“I’m not going anywhere.” Brienne muttered, beginning to unfasten the very straps she just tightened. Loosening the saddle much to the confusion of her mount. “But whichever young Lady is going to be the recipient of your notes – I hope she knows how lucky she is.” 

_And the sacrifice I’m making by staying…_

<3 <3 <3 <3 <3

“Seven Hells already?!” Jaime complained to himself, struggling one-handed to bundle up the contents of the package. He was perched upon a chaise lounge, awaiting the arrival of his charge. 

Sonnet Sennight had completely slipped his mind when he spied the parcel outside his door, scooping it up on the way to his Kingsguard shift. Now the cubes of wax were tumbling to the floor and he was cursing it all as an unfunny joke. Dropping to his knees to retrieve the items that had bounced beneath the chair. “What are the halfwits thinking? I’m one-handed, I can barely juggle the wax, let alone write a poem.”

“Uncle Jaime…” Myrcella’s soft voice made him jump to his feet. “…. You mustn’t say such things about Sonnet Sennight. It is a celebration of love.” 

“I apologise Your Grace.” He bowed before his niece, ignoring the echoes of his subconscious which would rather refer to her as daughter. “I did not expect your arrival so swiftly and-” He glanced at the disarray of objects strewn across the embroidered upholstery. “- curiousity got the better of me. I confess I had forgotten all about the celebration.” 

“I do not mind in the least.” The young girl smiled sweetly, standing on tiptoes to peck him on the cheek before sitting down and carefully repacking the kit. Her attendants rushed to assist but she waved them away with a dainty hand. “Ladies – if you would be so kind as to leave me alone with my Uncle. I wish to speak with him.” 

He raised an eyebrow in curiosity but said nothing, marvelling at how much his daughter had grown since her trip to Dorne. Frowning when the wreck of her ear peeked through her blonde curls.

Cersei had instructed her to wear her hair low from now on – all the better to mask the disfigurement. And a new wardrobe of high-necked dresses was tailor-made in an attempt to disguise her scar.

_My sister has little sympathy for those marked by battle. Less than perfect has no place in her shallow, self-obsessed world._

It sickened him to the stomach. 

_Affections should not be governed by appearance. People weighed by their face and not their nature. Though having said that - if I ever cross paths with the scum who did that to her, I will slice him from end to end._

When they were alone, she motioned for him to sit, folding her hands in her lap and regarding him warmly. “Uncle, may I ask why you would be so pessimistic about the occasion? It is a week devoted to embracing the most beautiful emotion in existence.”

He just chuckled at her naivete. “Not necessarily so Princess. Each year I am flooded with notes sealed with pretty rose hearts and I am yet to find anything sincere about them. It is all showmanship – nothing genuine.”

Myrcella’s mouth dropped open in indignance, a frown making her young features seem exaggeratedly serious. “That depends solely upon the person. I am writing notes this year and I assure you they will be heartfelt.” 

Now it was Jaime’s turn to glower. “You’re too young to be participating!”

The girl squared her shoulders, pointing her nose in the air in a way which scarily resembled her Mother. “I am betrothed. I will be sending poems to Trystane via Raven.”

“Hmmmm.” He wrinkled his nose, far from thrilled but having to quell his paternal impulses. “Very well. Nonetheless, it does not change the status for me.”

She leant forward, smirking at him cheekily. Her voice lowered to a conspiratorial whisper. “Are you going to send any?”

Once again, he could only laugh. “I can barely write my own name! Besides, it is an exercise in futility for anyone sworn to the Kingsguard.” 

“All the more reason you should! Anonymous notes mean you can participate without affecting your vows. I would gladly help….”

“That is very kind Your Grace.”

“I mean it. I would be happy to scribe for you.” She seemed somehow concerned. “After all these years, in all this time. Surely there is someone who makes your heart skip beats…”

“I will pass. Thank you just the same. There is no point to it.”

“Uncle Jaime…” Myrcella grinned at him then, proud and triumphant. 

_I wonder what she is thinking to produce that look?_

“…I can’t help but notice that you didn’t say there wasn’t someone.” Her emerald eyes glimmered. “You do have a Lady love.” 


	2. Day 2: A Nudge in the Right Direction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/185980079@N02/49831911703/in/dateposted-public/)  
> 
> 
> Cover Art by Ro_Nordmann
> 
> Circumstances prompt both Jaime and Brienne to send anonymous notes to each other...  
>  Let the Sonnets commence!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: So I decided to write little rhyming poems (which I refer to as Sonnets though they aren't properly structured and I just made it up as I went along)... can I just apologise for them upfront? LOL  
> What excuse can I make for myself? It was fun!

_The innocence of youth._

Jaime watched young men sneaking stealthily throughout the halls, small parchment pieces poorly concealed in their hands as they tried to approach the door of their chosen Lady without detection. 

_Heads filled with romance and intrigue – no wonder this week exists._

Yesterday’s conversation with his daughter still lingered in his mind. The thoughts fresh and extremely prevalent considering the loved crazed atmosphere which seemed to have swept across the entire castle. 

_They start young – I blame the stories. At least her Dornishman is leagues away or else I may have started pulling double shifts._

He wandered the corridors of the guest quarters seeking the Wench, his pristine leathers creaking with each step. His new attire was in desperate want of breaking in - for their smooth surface to be wrinkled during a scuffle with a hulking tower of a woman. 

_I have had more than enough of sentimentality. A good sparring session is what I need and I would wager she is much the same._

Turning the corner, he stopped in his tracks, his progress stilled by a commotion going on outside Brienne’s chambers. Almost reflexively he ducked back behind the wall, peering around the corner to watch the furore. 

“Just take the note!” 

Jaime recognised the brown-haired man as Hyle Hunt. 

_That whoreson. Pity the Brotherhood didn’t finish him off._

“I don’t want it.” Brienne locked her door with a definitive click. Stuffing the keys in the pocket of her breeches. 

“Because you’re so overrun with offers.” His tone was snide in a way that made Jaime want to introduce his jaw to his golden hand. 

“Why thank you Ser Hyle, you flatter me so with your overtures.” 

“Well you are being ridiculous.” He thrust his folded parchment in her face. “I went to the trouble of putting my intentions into words, the least you can do is read it.”

“I don’t have to – I know exactly what it says.” Her boots pounded with heavy footfalls into the carpet as she made a beeline for Podrick’s room. 

“You cannot possibly!”

“Oh, believe me I can.” She spun around to face him; her blue eyes flinty. “Brienne of Tarth: Herein lies my proposal of marriage. Once again, I reiterate what a fine choice I’d make. Did I mention how much I adore the idea of becoming a Lord? So enraptured in the idea am I, that I will suffer through marrying you if it means that Tarth is mine.” 

_Marriage?! That piece of shit is proposing?! Or has proposed before from the sounds of it…_

“Sincerely, Ser Hyle - Prospective Evenstar.” She ripped the note roughly from his hand. “Thank you ever so much, but surprisingly – I decline.”

Her fist pounded on the door and she barrelled through the instant Podrick opened it, slamming the timber in Hunt’s face and making Jaime guffaw. 

_Good on her._

Hyle huffed rounding the corner, right as the lion Lord was sniggering. 

“Did you see that?”

“I must say I did.” Jaime folded his arms cockily across his chest. “And quite enjoyed the show. Will there be a repeat performance this evening? I would have encouraged a larger audience if I knew there was to be a farce…”

“Mock if you will Lannister.” Hunt narrowed his eyes angrily. Since their first encounter, neither man had been overly fond of the other. “But she will cave before the week is out. I’m a good catch for a woman like her and she will get no other offers.”

“Perhaps you should see the Maester –“ Jaime strode forward, his taller height making the minor Knight seem incredibly puny. “-surely you must be sick with fever to suffer from such delusions.”

“Really?” 

“Were you watching the same exchange as I?”

“I was.” Hunt was shaking in his boots but still managed to hide it well. “She took the note didn’t she?”

Panic shot across Jaime’s face before he could successfully mask it. He knew Hunt noticed because the swine grinned victoriously, sauntering away having won his first round against the Kingslayer. 

Jaime paced in a fury, half of him wanting to chase Hyle down and smack that look from his face. The other half anxious to barge into Podrick’s chamber and demand answers from Brienne.

Answers he knew he was not entitled to.

Instead his feet found their own direction, crossing the Keep in a daze. Before he knew it, his knuckles were indeed hammering upon a door - the wood swung open by a member of the Kingsguard, snapped to attention with the urgency of his knocking.

Jaime shouldered unapologetically past, leaving the White Knight gaping in his wake. 

Inside he found a gaggle of ladies, giggling girlishly and comparing their notes. Passing them from hand to hand, openly discussing the outpourings of some poor fool’s heart. But the Princess in their midst held her note close to her chest, nodding along but safeguarding the words of her love. Conjuring within him a pang of fatherly pride. 

_She may have her mother’s looks, but she has my respect for intimacy._

_When love is reduced to grandiose professions and turned to a sport of one-upmanship – then the authors deserve to have their words become the subject of speculation and scrutiny. I know I myself will be guilty of making mock this very evening…_

_But if it is real – an earnest representation of your innermost affections – then that deserves to be cherished, for what it is - a rare commodity._

Observing the way Myrcella valued Trystane’s correspondence, kindled a ray of hope within his own weary chest. That perhaps his daughter would be blessed with true love in all its purity and innocence. 

And that maybe, just possibly, if he himself took a gamble - acting upon the feelings lying latent within the depths of his heart - it would bring a gleam of happiness. A catharsis through honesty and the flimsiest shred of a chance at glimpsing the beauty of real love.

Now he understood why his legs had carried him here. 

_It is worth a shot._

All fell silent as he approached, Jaime offering them a gracious nod as he bowed low before his daughter and announced. “Your Grace, I am sorry to interrupt but - I would like to accept your generous offer from yesterday if it still stands.”

“Of course, Uncle Jaime.” Myrcella’s smile extended from ear to ear. “Shall we commence straight away?” 

<3 <3 <3 <3 <3

“Impolite lout.” With a flick of her wrist the note fed the fire. The red heart wax seal melting unbroken amidst the flames. “No integrity and even less authenticity.” 

“That was Ser Hyle wasn’t it?” Podrick sat himself back down at a small writing desk. “It was too quick for me to see.” 

“Who else?” Brienne responded dryly. “The only thing I will grant him is his persistence.” 

“If you don’t mind my saying – he wants you for the wrong reasons M’Lady Ser.” Pod mumbled to his chest, but she admired the boy’s perception. “When we were prisoners together, he thought speaking to me about you may help his cause. But I fear there is no love there. Is that wrong of me to say?” 

“No Pod. It is very insightful – and you are right.” She pulled a second chair up to the desk where he sat. “His is neither true infatuation nor bland pity. He is the third kind – a social climber who sees Tarth as a prize and me as his necessary steppingstone.” 

“Does it hurt your feelings Ser?”

“Not anymore.” She flattened out the parchment scraps, smoothing the edges. “Taking insult was the reaction of a fragile girl. I am a woman now – I have grown above notions of love.” 

The expression on Podrick’s face was as if she had just denounced the Seven. “You can’t have outgrown love M’Lady! That is a terrible thought.” 

“Also, terribly practical. No one is going to love me, not with my face. So, my affections are best harboured in my heart – where they can remain protected and unrequited.” 

“But…” In a rare moment of bravado, he glanced up to study her countenance. “…to say that means there _is_ someone you love.” 

“Drop it Pod, there is no point to it. Now show me what you have so far, you asked me to check it for errors.” She reached for his draft slip, but he slid it out of reach. 

“N-no.” Her Squire shook his head, summoning all his pluck to affect a stubborn air. “I am being brave in sending this, when I am afraid of being laughed at or rejected. You should too.”

Brienne huffed. “My case is different.”

“It’s not.” His shaggy brown hair fell across his brow as she shook his head. “I-I am not putting my name on them. I want her to know someone cares – but not who I am. Why can’t you do the same?” 

“Because Podrick I…” In all honesty there wasn’t a reason, none she could think of on the spot anyway. “….I don’t feel comfortable with the idea.” 

“If you love someone – shouldn’t they know?” He was so sweet natured it was infuriating. “Maybe your note would make him happy, if only for a minute. That’s what I’m telling myself. You always want me to have courage.”

She exhaled long and hard through her nose. 

_If you take on the responsibility of a Squire, you should lead by example._

“I wouldn’t know where to begin…”

“We can sit together and figure it out.” Pod patted the empty chair beside him. “We have all day.”

<3 <3 <3 <3 <3

By the time Brienne was done she felt emotionally drained, handing her own rose wax over to Podrick for sealing and entrusting him with the delivery of the note. She wanted to stay as far away from the door as possible, leaving no trail which could reveal her identity. 

_If he figures out who it is from – I will never live it down. And I can’t believe Pod expects me to repeat the process tomorrow._

It was customary once the initial correspondence was sent, to continue in the same vein. Sending subsequent messages for the continuation of the week. 

_The first was difficult enough._

Traditionalists composed Sonnets; the poem intended to allude to the author without directly stating. The ancient belief being that a true love could decipher the lines and recognise their soulmate. 

It was an idealistic concept, one which called to the romantic buried within her but also a truly frightening prospect, tapping into the well of her heart. The very emotions she shuttered off for the sake of her own wellbeing suddenly encouraged to flow through her quill. Though somehow the picture of him receiving it, of reading the inner beatings of her chest, did move her and eventually the ink had flowed across the parchment. 

_Although those who are not gluttons for punishment just scrawl a quick line or two in plain speech._

As Brienne clicked her door shut her boot slipped, losing traction upon something beneath its sole. Looking down she found a sealed note. 

_Hyle just doesn't quit._

She was about to toss it amidst the flames when her activities of the afternoon gave her pause. 

_Even if I have no intention of accepting the offer – he did take the time to write it. Perhaps it is rude of me not to even peruse its contents._

She seated herself by the fire, cracking open the seal with exceedingly low expectations. Though the first thing she noticed was the ornate script. Unique loops and flourishing penmanship which could never belong to Hunt. 

_Such calligraphy only comes from a highborn education – this didn’t come from him._

Taking and holding a deep lungful of air, she began to read.

**_Maid of Tarth I write you,_ **

**_For my heart compels me so,_ **

**_It is not for your land or titles,_ **

**_But because you deserve to know -_ **

****

**_That I watch you in the daylight,_ **

**_I see you in my dreams,_ **

**_And the thought of you with another,_ **

**_Damn near tears me at the seams -_ **

****

**_You enchant me effortlessly,_ **

**_And my jaded heart can scarce believe,_ **

**_How the breathless want of craving you,_ **

**_Gives me no reprieve -_ **

****

**_I could list the ways I love you; but it would go on and on,_ **

**_So, I simply sign this sonnet,_ **

**_Devotedly, Anon._ **

Dumbfounded she sat staring at the parchment, wondering when she would wake up and laugh at the ludicrous hallucination she just had. But no matter how many times she blinked; the words were still there. 

_This is really happening._

Gnawing at a fingernail in agitation she re-read the rhyme. Analysing each line, absorbing the tone of the writer, weighing the sentiments for sincerity. 

_I have always wished to receive one. To be treated as the other Maidens with sweet words and syrupy sentiment. But now I have, I do not know what to do with it. What to make of it…_

Because things had changed from a girl blindly seeking validation, not particularly caring from whence it came. Now she had matured, her wants becoming singular and out of an entire castle of potential authors. 

_There is only one man I want…._

It was dark outside her windows; night having long descended upon the stronghold. Hours dwindling away in a flurry of pacing and overthinking. 

_Tomorrow._

She promised herself. 

_After sleep all will be clearer. I will make sense of it then._

Forcing herself to file it away in her top drawer, she prepared for bed.

<3 <3 <3 <3 <3

By firelight Jaime was having a chuckle. He knew it was uncharitable, but it was an annual ritual and one of the few amusements gifted to him in his repetitive existence.

An assortment of opened parchment notes sat before him, each more humorous than the last and whenever a new contender entered the fray, he tried to rearrange them from most to least amusing. 

It was a game begun by Tyrion many moons ago, when they would share a carafe of wine and his brother would lament the attentions Jaime received. 

_“All those offers of tumbles in bed going to waste! It is tragic! Can we not pretend a few got delivered to under my door by mistake?”_

Jaime would shake his head and they would laugh, instead settling for getting progressively more befuddled and categorising them by entertainment value. 

The lion of Lannister sighed, sipping from his goblet. The memories making him miss his younger brother somewhere out there in distant Essos. 

_For you Tyrion._ He toasted the air. _I ensure the tradition lives on._

Turning his focus back to the task at hand he began shuffling them about once more. 

_Now the one that mentioned how her thatch is as soft a newborn kitten – she has definitely earnt herself a place in the top three._

_But where should I put the one who claimed her talent was ‘sword swallowing?’_

_Oh! But then there is the one who called me ‘More handsome than a dewdrop upon a butterfly’s wing happened upon by a beam of sunlight, during a dawn which could never be more captivating than your smile.’ That is in a category all of its own…._

Quicker than a flash he heard footfalls, a shadow passing under his door as a sealed note was slid across the floorboards. 

_New delivery!_ Jaime leapt up to claim it. _First position is still up for grabs…_

Retaking his seat beside the fire, he unfolded the parchment, ready for his next guffaw.

Instead there was a cessation in the rhythm of his chest. A halting to its beats as he was greeted by the rarest of qualities – earnestness.

**_I am but a drop in the ocean,_ **

**_Wishing to pin a wave upon the shore,_ **

**_Grasping for the unreachable,_ **

**_For I have never wanted anything more -_ **

****

**_I adore you for your spirit,_ **

**_I appreciate your heart,_ **

**_Other men pale against you,_ **

**_A true knight set apart -_ **

****

**_I love you wholly and solely,_ **

**_I pine so close and yet so far,_ **

**_And I imagine the impossible,_ **

**_If we weren’t who we truly are -_ **

****

**_I sign with my fidelity and hitch my hopes upon,_ **

**_You never unveiling my identity,_ **

**_Faithfully, Anon._ **

_It is writ in the Sonnet style – just as I composed my own._

He could not laugh at this. He would not. 

_This woman knows me. She speaks my language. Has enough knowledge of my values to craft her words to my liking._

His anonymous authoress may want to conceal her name but Jaime’s mind was running rings trying to figure it out. Coming up with the same hopeful conclusion again and again.

_Could it be her?_


	3. Day 3:  Inkling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/185980079@N02/49831911703/in/dateposted-public/)  
>    
> 
> 
> Cover Art by Ro_Nordmann
> 
> Our Anons begin to read between the lines...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! I just wanted to take a moment to say thank you for all the lovely comments on the first two chapters. The support has been heartwarming and I really appreciate it. I promise to reply to everyone as soon as I get the chance. You have been the inspiration making my fingers fly across the keys. <3

“It could be him M’Lady!” Podrick seemed incredibly excited by the prospect, jumping on board when she revealed her note the next morning. “If you read between the lines there is every chance.” 

“Why would he write me Pod? It is highly unlikely and I am only setting myself up for a fall by contemplating it.” Even if the same thoughts had caused her a sleepless night.

_The jocular tone, the reference to a jaded heart, the fact that he says he sees me daily…_

There were very few men whom she spent time with and those she did were generally just a brief crossing of swords. Brienne was known for keeping to herself. But this avid admirer knew private details about her life. The way she was plagued by false suitors who would use her as a means to their end.

_Maiden shield my heart, for my weak defences expose it further as I reread every syllable. The thought of him disarms me…._

“They are anonymous notes. So, you cannot get hurt.” Pod pushed over a piece of parchment, his young face alight with enthusiasm. “Write him again. Keep the poem you received in your mind. Pretend you know for certain it is him. If Ser Jaime had signed it – you’d want to respond.”

“Hush Pod!” Brienne scolded. “I am trusting you not to speak that name aloud. This Keep has ears and he would never let me forget such folly if he knew.” She seated herself, gingerly fingering the edge of Devotedly Anon’s sonnet. 

_On the slim chance that it is you Jaime…._

Picking up the quill, she dipped it determinedly in the inkpot. 

<3 <3 <3 <3 <3

“Your Grace, if you are agreeable, I would engage your assistance again.” Today Jaime had duty with the Princess. He had reassigned posts at the last minute, unapologetically abusing his position as Lord Commander to see him with his co-conspirator. 

Myrcella clapped her dainty hands together with glee. “You wish to send a follow up?” 

“Yes, I confess I have been taken off-guard.” From beneath his chestplate he produced the small note. “I received this last night.” 

“Is it her?” Green eyes were wider than marbles, invested in her Uncle’s correspondence as though she were watching a romance novella play out in living colour. 

“It is signed Faithfully Anon.” He smirked. “But I do believe there is enough evidence to support the theory that it is….” He went silent and simply mouthed. ‘The Maid of Tarth.’ 

Seriousness overtook his mien as he added. “Usually I would not ask you to keep secrets but I must impress upon you how imperative it is that word of these exchanges does not reach your Mother – she would not approve.”

“Uncle–“ There was something about the way she pronounced the title which implied more than it should. “-I am more astute than the majority assume. Fear not, I can foresee the ramifications if this information were to fall into my Mother’s hands and I have no desire to endanger the Lady in question.” She opened a small trinket box upon her desk, retrieving one of his red wax cubes in preparation. “Shall we proceed?” 

<3 <3 <3 <3 <3 

“And so, fate has us cross paths - but one is coming whilst the other is going.” Jaime gave a theatrical pout as he strolled into the yard. Arriving just as Brienne sheathed her sword, pushing perspiration drenched locks from her face. “Are you avoiding me Wench? Dubious as to whether you can defeat my ever-increasing left-handed prowess? I promise I will go easy on you – at least for the first two lunges. Can I not persuade you to stay another round?” 

“You’re too late; you missed your chance.” Brienne puffed in the cold air, already feeling the chill seep beneath her armour. Mingling with the sweat to make her shiver. “If I do not change out of these damp clothes, I’m afraid my sparring will be replaced with bedrest.” She pounded him once on his leather clad shoulder. Awkwardly going out of her way to convey their camaraderie, lest he come to suspect the exceedingly feminine sentiments she harboured for him. “Be earlier next time.”

“I couldn’t – I was on duty. I am but a slave to my post.” He tilted his golden head to the side. “But I have scarce caught a glimpse of you these past few days. What have you been up to?”   
“Avoiding Hyle.” Brienne answered as candidly as she could. “Can you not use your sway to find him some occupation? Preferably one far away from Kings Landing?” 

“Just say the word and it shall be done My Lady.” She had intended her remark as a wry jape, but Jaime’s response was uncharacteristically austere. 

“Tell me – what has Ser Hyle done to court your ire?” Brienne’s eyebrow raised slightly. 

“Fine choice of phrasing.” The lion of Lannister grumbled. “I mislike him. He has a smarmy quality which riles me.”

“Anyone would think he had tried to woo you; from the way you speak.” 

“Seven Hells Wench!” Jaime blanched, making the corners of her mouth twitch upwards. “Bite your tongue! I was merely thinking of you is all. Rumour has it he’s fathered at least one bastard - that we know of - his reputation is unsavoury.” 

“Well as much as I appreciate your concern, you are well aware I can take care of myself.” Gooseflesh prickled under her sleeves and she hugged her arms around herself – knowing it was not entirely the weather which conjured this reaction within her. “And on that topic, I must get warm. If you’ll excuse me Ser.” 

Brienne walked away, coaching her breathing to remain steady. Commanding her head not to turn and look back. 

_Is it jealousy or jesting?_

Regaining control over her reactions, she bade her jumbled nerves be calm. 

_Honestly, I think I am letting this hideous week get under my skin._

<3 <3 <3 <3 <3

Warm and dry she curled up on the rug by the fire. Logic dictating that her health came first. 

There had been another two notes waiting for her beneath the door and she had forbidden herself from opening them until she had bathed and changed. 

She stared at the pair of rectangles, lying side by side on the rug. Both identical from the outside. But inside….

_Here goes everything…._

**_Lady Brienne,_ **

**_I will not be dissuaded._ **

**_Matrimony is in both of our best interests._ **

**_Awaiting your agreement,_ **

**_Ser Hyle_ **

****

_Oh look – kindling._

She watched it burn with her usual distaste. His complete lack of consideration for her feelings enough to make her feel like a second-class citizen. 

_He must think me the ugliest and most desperate beast in the world. He does not even try to hide his disdain any longer._

The entire concept made her shudder. 

_Some may regard me as a sad, solitary creature. But I would rather be lonesome with dignity than a disempowered wife suffering an uncaring husband in my bed._

_Besides – my heart would never countenance my acceptance of another._

It was with that thought reverberating through her ribcage that she undid the second note. Trembling hands impatient to uncover its secrets.

**_Maid of Tarth is your herald,_ **

**_At Evenfall you hold the reins,_ **

**_For synchrony with your birthright,_ **

**_Runs within your powerful veins -_ **

****

**_Brienne of Tarth you are an island,_ **

**_Miles of pure, pristine lands,_ **

**_Your eyes the Straits of Sapphire,_ **

**_Your hair the white-washed sands -_ **

****

**_And although rocks can be rugged,_ **

**_There is beauty in untamed,_ **

**_Which calls to men to roam your mountains,_ **

**_Exploring valleys yet unnamed -_ **

****

**_Never let them despoil you; remain the paragon,_ **

**_You are perfect without changing,_ **

**_Devotedly, Anon._ **

As she finished the poem, a sportive smile ghosted across her face. At first glance the sonnet was cleverly worded compliments but it soon conveyed a deeper meaning. 

_Someone is very much against me accepting any proposals…_

She thought back to her earlier conversation with Jaime in the practice yard. His contempt for Ser Hyle worn plainly. It was enough to make butterflies take wing within her stomach. But ever present was her scepticism, quick to throw a pail of water over her spark.

_He displays it too openly – surely if he were sending me these slips, he would employ subtlety._

Brienne did not have answers - all she knew was that the heated buzz which radiated throughout her system warmed her more than the blankets and fire combined. She wriggled her stocking clad toes contentedly, curling up on the fur rug. Lulling herself to sleep by rereading the sonnet – Jaime’s rich voice dripping like honey in her mind. 

<3 <3 <3 <3 <3

The pile of notes was a nuisance, his left-hand fumbled to rip each open without destroying the contents. Casting them aside with disinterest when it wasn’t what he sought. 

_They all look the bloody same._

When he was halfway through the supply, he employed the use of his dagger, pinning each note beneath his golden prosthetic and severing the small wax hearts with precision. Doubling his pace and sparing the parchment from the impatience of his fumbling tears. 

_What if she hasn’t written again? She did avoid me in the yard today. Thumped me in the chest like a brother or long-lost chum._

_What if it isn’t her? What if I have fallen victim to a particularly observant sycophant? Stroking my ego to gain favour._

_Am I this gullible? A preening cockerel so consumed with conceit I would take for granted Brienne wanted me._

_I know she received the notes, Myrcella organised their delivery._

_But just because she got them doesn’t mean she reciprocates; I am a damn sight older than her and less a hand…._

_Fuck._

_Of course, she doesn’t think they came from me! I am missing my right hand! How could I write them?_

_Then who does she think they are from? Surely not Hyle._

_Seven Hells! Some other cunt is getting the credit for my romancing!_

His mental somersaults came to an abrupt halt as he finally located a note from Faithfully Anon. The other scraps of discarded parchment fluttering from his lap as he walked to the nearest sconce to better read the shapely script. 

**_This medium swathed in mystery,_ **

**_Unlocks the song of my heart,_ **

**_A melody I usually silence,_ **

**_Sentiment has never been my art -_ **

****

**_But within I am love and loyalty,_ **

**_A pillar of devotion,_ **

**_And if my breast were tapped,_ **

**_Continents could drown in my emotion -_ **

****

**_It is you alone I yearn to share with,_ **

**_The sole voice I long to hear,_ **

**_Whispering to me your secrets,_ **

**_Your lips grazing my ear -_ **

****

**_But alas I hide behind parchment; and so the charade plays on…_ **

**_Only in ink can I say I love you,_ **

**_Faithfully, Anon._ **

****

_It’s her._

Jaime was almost certain of it. Intuition tuned to the very pulse of the sonnet. It resonated with her voice. Insecurity coupled with ferocity; shyness laced with determination. 

_I hear you Wench._ He grinned. _Now time to make sure you know it is me…._


	4. Day 4:  Midway, Flower Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/185980079@N02/49831911703/in/dateposted-public/)  
>    
> 
> 
> Cover Art by Ro_Nordmann
> 
> The romance kicks up a notch as we reach the Halfway Point in Sonnet Sennight...

She was disturbed from working on her latest composition by a knock at the door. Muscles clenching as she waited for the caller to make their identity known. 

_Midway – Flower Day._

Brienne rolled her azure eyes. The title was a childish sing-song developed to mark the halfway point in Sonnet Sennight. 

By now it was expected that each Lady had narrowed it down to a short list of suitors and in accordance the buffoons would step up their game, trying to outdo each other with the delivery of showy bouquets. 

On this occasion notes were attached to the arrangements, commonplace for them to be delivered by the pursuer himself (if he was bold) or an attendant keeping with the anonymity. It was enough to make Brienne want to climb out a window and spend the day in the stables. 

“M’Lady Ser?” 

Releasing a sigh of relief, she bounded over to let Podrick in, regretting her haste when she found him with a long-stemmed rose in his hand. 

“I found this outside the door.” He explained. “I didn’t know what to do with it…” 

“Come in.” Brienne grimaced, taking the bloom begrudgingly. _I detest roses._

Shutting the door with her back, she tore open the parchment. “Ser Hyle strikes again. My he truly excels in being both unimaginative and unenlightened at the same time.” A frown furrowed her brow as she thought of Bitterbridge. 

“It is a lovely rose My Lady. Perhaps he meant it kindly…”

“I doubt it.” She showed him the accompanying note, concise at three words long. 

**_My offer stands._ **

“He is reminding me that I am unlikely to receive further proposals.” 

_Connington was at the melee. He tells everyone the story of our betrothal. Hyle knew what he was doing in sending this._

The wounds were still raw, the scars of cruelty biting more deeply than the thorns on the stem. But Brienne was tougher now and not one to shrink. 

_I defeated them all – and I would do it again._

“Do you have a flower for your lady Pod?” 

“No Ser.” He shook his head shyly. “I went to purchase a posy but there was arguing and pushing in the lines at the marketplace. I let some other men go before me and there was nothing but weeds left by the time it was my turn.”

“Here…have a rose.” She held it out with a smile. “Doubtless she will appreciate it far more than I will. Let its beauty not be tainted by the negativity of my associations. It was meant to bloom for love – not a hidden agenda.” 

“Are you sure?” His eyes lit up in the most endearing way. 

“Positive.” 

Another knock at the door made them both jump. 

“Will you fetch the door?” Brienne looked to her Squire imploringly. “Likely it is Ser Hyle ensuring his message was received and I am in no mood for confrontation. Tell him you were straightening my things and that I am elsewhere.” 

“Yes M’Lady.” 

“And Pod… wherever I am, make it far.” 

She ducked behind a wall as she listened to the exchange. The words were inaudible, but the sweet lilt of the speaker was feminine. 

When she heard the lock turn, she revealed herself again, stepping out and asking. “Who was it?”

The sight which greeted Brienne stopped her in her tracks. Podrick was beaming, holding a large pottery planter overflowing with little blue flowers. 

“A Lady’s Maid Ser. She would not say who she serves. She explained that during Sonnet Sennight secrecy must be respected. The sender wishes to remain anonymous.”

The Maid of Tarth had lost all in interest in the identity of the deliverer. Instead striding forward and fondly touching perfect tiny petals, a soft expression transforming her usually stern features. 

“Forget Me Nots.” She breathed. “And they have been kept potted instead of cut; they will not wither – only continue to flourish.”

“They are lovely M’Lady.” He gestured with his head amongst the leaves. “And there is a note.” 

Gently she parted the foliage with her large hands, careful not to break any of the delicate branches as she retrieved the parchment. This time there was a phrase on the front… audaciously breaking all the rules. 

**_Did you forget me?_ **

****

She sunk her teeth into her bottom lip as she pried the envelope open. 

**_Forget me not my beloved,_ **

**_Nor the bond of you and I,_ **

**_For just like these blossoms,_ **

**_I will not allow it to die –_ **

****

**_My hesitancy is from caution,_ **

**_My distance because I care,_ **

**_Jealous eyes are watchful,_ **

**_And a glance quickly becomes a glare –_ **

****

**_I remember always your colour,_ **

**_Blue as sumptuous as the sky,_ **

**_It is a good colour on you My Lady,_ **

**_And I am not the kind to lie –_ **

****

**_Nurture our rapport, a love like this comes once an eon,_ **

**_And think of me as you tend them,_ **

**_Devotedly, Anon._ **

****

“You know what I hope Ser?” Pod’s amiable chatter pulled her watery gaze from the poem. “I hope My Lady looks like that when she reads my notes – because that is love.” 

Brienne just nodded as her chin started to tremble. 

“It’s him Podrick.” She caressed a familiar line. Jaime’s compliment from a time gone by floating back to her as if from a daydream. “I can’t believe it – but it’s him.”

<3 <3 <3 <3 <3

The fire crackled far too merrily for his liking. It was beyond the hour of the bat, the night reaching its period of lulled stillness. The turning point where one day became the next, where corridors fell silent and sentries dozed at their posts. 

Jaime stared glumly into the dregs of his wine chalice, trying to muster the energy to cross his chamber for a refill. 

_Her response did not come._

Not by the afternoon when he popped back to his room to check the deliveries, white cape of the Kingsguard flowing from his shoulders, a stark reminder of how he was defying his vows by engaging in this love affair. A fact he wilfully ignored. 

It had not arrived by supper, a tedious sit-down meal where he endured Cersei’s endless boasting. Passively tolerating a series of pointed remarks about how desirable she was to men. The Queen seemed insistent upon regaling him with precise details; including the flattery they spouted and exactly how many Lords were willing to risk scandal by showering her in flowers and odes. 

Jaime tried his darndest to appear even slightly interested. His thoughts wandering back to the slot beneath his door, preoccupied with bemoaning the delay in receiving his daily correspondence. Alas, he realised too late that his lack of interest in his twin’s affairs was inconcealable. 

Across the table Cersei had narrowed her eyes suspiciously, puckering her mouth as if her wine was too sour. Tossing her golden curls and putting too much emphasis on how _they_ praised her beauty. How _they_ would trade life and limb for just a taste of her. 

He knew what had instigated this display and that his indifference had only inflamed the situation. This was the first year he had not sent Cersei a token of his admiration. Depriving her of even a single note. Jaime Lannister was a one-woman man and would not perjure his heart to appease his sister’s ego. Even if it meant pacifying her wrath. 

Thankfully Tommen had changed the subject, filled with chatter about Margarey and his general dislike of the week-long celebrations. Expressing his childlike jealousy over some flowers his wife had received. Myrcella had just simpered over her dinner plate, offering the odd consolatory comment to her younger brother and putting in a supreme performance of guileless innocence. For the first time Jaime appreciated the quiet brilliance of the girl and acknowledged just how safe his secret was in his daughter’s care. 

After bathing he was pleased to discover a few notes waiting for him. The numbers dwindling nightly as his many fawners got the hint and turned their attentions to one of the men actually vying for their attentions. A far wiser decision for them in the long run - they need waste no more parchment on a man who would never return their melodramatic overtures. 

He tore through the small bundle with lofty hopes only to crash down again, discovering to his dismay that none were from the woman he wanted. 

It was then the flagon of wine had seemed a tempting option. 

Hours later, the golden lion was still affixed to his chair. Nursing his empty goblet and listening intently for any movement outside his door. 

_Why would she not like the forget me nots? Or maybe it is me she doesn’t like._

_I gave a direct hint to my identity. That is the only thing that has changed._

He sighed sadly, a lonely sound in the empty bedchamber. 

_She must be disappointed and I cannot blame her. A Kingslayer in lieu of a lover. A man bound by pre-existing vows who can never make her a wife, with a spiteful twin sister scrutinising his every move. I would be chagrined too. I should have left my identity cloaked in vagueness; my reality is quite disillusioning…_

Then he heard it. The scraping of parchment against floorboards. As faint as a Summer breeze rifling through tall grass but just as distinctive. 

His vivacity renewed, he smacked the chalice down roughly on the table, the circular bottom rocking unsteadily as he hastened to collect the folded parchment from under the door. 

Perching back on the edge of his chair and reading the first line printed on the outside. Three simple words but the most exquisite phrase he could contrive. 

**_I love you._ **

****

The blood rushed in his veins, sending a delicious tingling sensation from his scalp to the tips of his toes. A feeling of being seen, heard and understood. All the corresponding splendour that came with real pure affection. She knew his identity now and it was not anticlimactic to her fantasy. 

On the contrary – the confirmation had made her declare herself with laconic certitude. 

_What else does My Lady say?_

He could not split the seal quickly enough. 

**_I have tried all day to find the rhyme,_ **

**_But the couplets evade me._ **

****

**_Forgive my detour from our sonnets._ **

**_Forgive the lateness of my correspondence._ **

**_Reticence has always been my constant,_ **

**_And now there is too much I wish to impart._ **

****

**_You are the Scorpion Grass that grows in the sun._ **

**_An attractant to butterfly and bee alike._ **

**_But fragile wings cannot stand against a stinger,_ **

**_When we both wish to sup upon the same pollen._ **

****

**_I speak the language of flowers my dear Knight,_ **

**_Schooled young in womanly arts seldom put to use._ **

**_I know the story of the lovers by the river._ **

**_It will not be us – we shall not sink._ **

****

**_Faithfully, Anon_ **

****

_This is quite the riddle – I can see why it took her a great deal of time to compose it. The clever wench is hiding her meaning within its message, just as I did._

He swelled with pride at the sagacity of his woman.

_Now the foundations are laid we can communicate more freely. The walls between us fall one by one._

It was astonishing how in just a few short days his dull existence had turned on its head. A week which he had always considered trite, transforming into an occasion which unleashed his innermost desires. Giving confidence and voice to two people trapped somewhere between friends and lovers. The catalyst for their relationship evolving. Their unspoken attraction increasing from simmer to boil.

_Who’d have thought this would come from Sonnet Sennight?_

_And there are still three blissful days to go._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation of hidden messages in the Notes (just in case I am the only one who understands my craziness):  
> Jaime’s: He is keeping his distance to protect Brienne from Cersei. Knowing that if his sister even catches them looking at each other fondly it will spark her to vengeful anger. Regardless of this he intends to nurture their growing love, he wants them to never forget the truth of their relationship. 
> 
> Brienne’s: A little bit of floriography is going on here. Noble women were often taught the meaning of flowers and the legends behind them, which she uses to speak in code to Jaime. (All facts are true by the way, I googled!)  
> Scorpion Grass is another name for Forget Me Nots, so she is telling him she received them. Agreeing with his analogy for nurturing their love, she calls upon the same visuals.  
> Jaime is the plant which grows in the sun. Meaning that the spotlight is always on him.  
> Forgets Me Nots are known to be very attractive to butterflies and bees but she aligns this concept with the personalities (rather than visual, for obvious reasons) of the women who gravitate to him.  
> Cersei (the bee, dominant and quick to anger) and Brienne (the butterfly, timid, shy and cautious).  
> She then explains that butterflies are fragile and easily crushed if they were to compete against a bee. (Cersei has more power and her position in life could easily organise Brienne’s destruction).  
> What are they competing for? The Plant (Jaime).  
> The final lines refer to the legend of the Forget Me Not:  
> A Knight and his Lady were walking along beside a river. The Knight bent down to pick his Lady love a pretty blue flower, but his heavy armour caused him to lose his balance and he fell into the current. As he was sinking and being dragged unde, he called out to her ‘Forget me not!’  
> Brienne sees it as a cautionary tale. She understands the danger they are in if their love is discovered and avows that they will not have a tragic tale.


	5. Day 5, Part 1 - Unreserved

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/185980079@N02/49831911703/in/dateposted-public/)  
>   
> 
> 
> Cover Art by Ro_Nordmann
> 
> Now, with both Anon identities discovered - things are heating up...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tonight I was going to reply to all your beautiful comments (which have been making my week).  
> But instead I thought you might enjoy another chapter. :)  
> I swear I will reply when I get time. I appreciate every comment and reader with all my heart. <3

Either Podrick was getting better with a blade or her mind truly was elsewhere. The tap he landed on her shin taking her by surprise.

Her Squire was chuffed with his small victory, posture shifting slightly from ideal fighter’s stance.

Brienne sprang into action with an offensive attack, disarming him with only a handful of swings. His tourney sword sent sprawling into the snow. 

“You celebrated too soon.” Her tone was stern but not unkind. “Never assume victory is yours. The aim is to win the match, not the point. The war rather than the battle.” 

“I understand M’Lady Ser. But in all due respect – your attention was not on the battle either. I noticed it waver, that’s how I landed the blow.”

The Maid of Tarth huffed, her hot breath billowing in the cold air as rising steam. 

“You are correct.” She conceded. “My focus did wander and it was reckless of me. I am pleased you noticed; it means you are gaining skill in reading your opponent’s weaknesses.” 

Giving him a congratulatory clap on the shoulder, she retired to the armoury. Chastising herself for surrendering to such an amateur folly.

Brienne knew what the distraction was – a small note tucked under her leathers. She had discovered it right as she was leaving her chamber and had stuffed it into her tunic for safekeeping. Believing herself disciplined enough to ignore its presence. 

But with every thrust of her sword, the scrap buried itself further beneath the bindings which wrapped her breasts. Tiny corners digging into her skin, wax heart becoming tacky as her flesh heated from the exercise. Each sensation reminding her of the message printed on the outside, his sardonic humour tickling at her in the same way the parchment did. 

**_Not from Hyle._ **

****

_Wise arse._

Returning her tourney sword to the stand she locked the door for privacy. Resting on the wooden bench and permitting herself to read the very correspondence which had ruined today’s training. 

_Though – retrieving it may be easier said than done._

It took quite a lot of squirming to eventually fish the note out from under her wrappings. The layers of padding and leather not conducive to her makeshift storage space. 

_If only I had a pocket as men do._

The parchment was warm, the red seal gooey, the rectangle folding itself in a curving arc. It was hideous and laughably girlish of her, but as she easily unfurled the note, she wished its author was beside her. So, he could share in her silliness, chortle along with her, enjoy the story which they had unwittingly created. The type you could tell your children. 

_But that cannot be. I know it. He knows it._

_I am grateful for what we have and shouldn’t crave more. Look at what I have gained in the last few days alone…_

_I cherish our newfound closeness. I just cannot help but long for him in person, rather than word._

She shook her head to clear the broody thoughts, returning to the task and good fortune at hand.

**_Love is the ultimate subject,_ **

**_It has been written many times,_ **

**_An inspiration of countless odes,_ **

**_The theme to a thousand rhymes -_ **

****

**_But the real thing is incomparable,_ **

**_My sonnets fall to the wayside too._ **

**_I can’t think of lyrical way,_ **

**_To convey how much I love you…._ **

****

**_Because I do._ **

**_Brienne – I do._ **

**_This is like nothing I’ve ever experienced before._ **

**_I love you._ **

****

**_For seasons, for years; for now, for forever,_ **

**_From past to present to future… my heart is yours._ **

**_Devotedly, Anon._ **

****

Brienne was not ready for the wave of emotion that hit her. Or the way it waterlogged her eyes. Like the breakers which crashed directly into her chest when she was a child playing amongst the ocean swell. The sheer force of it knocking the wind from her lungs, sweeping her up in its wash. 

For a long time, she sat. Allowing herself to trust in the surreal benevolence of their shared connection. With deep breaths she could feel her soul expanding, reaching through the ether for its mate. Remodelling from an iron fortress shaped for one, to an oasis with room for two. The new space in her bosom heralding an end to her solitude, the welcome inclusion of her partner in her innermost sanctum. 

But this very same act brought to her a new angst. The fact that he wasn’t physically there to fill the chasm, birthing an agonising vacancy. 

_Double edged is the blade._

She savoured the perplexing dualities of the developments. Coming to the conclusion that she was pleased with her spiritual expansion. Wallowing in the magnificence of this newfangled torture. A dish so delectably rich her stomach clenched, yet still she could not get enough of it. 

She stayed in this introspection until the natural light began to dim, the pale winter sunset streaking through the armoury windows. Compelling her to take further leaps of faith.

<3 <3 <3 <3 <3

Brienne lowered the cup of water, straightening her planter in its position on her writing desk. Reverently stroking the cerulean petals as they took on an ethereal glow in the faint moonlight. 

The hour was late but she was wide awake. Besieged by craving, tormented by desire. 

Replaying a chance encounter with Jaime in the hall shortly after dinnertime. Shocked by how his mere proximity roused her more primal impulses. An unspoken accompaniment to love which beckoned unabatingly. The erotic mating call of the insatiable. 

_I was never warned of this, love and lust combined. Untouched skin seeming somehow barren, needing to be cultivated by his caress._

The moment in time began anew in loop, crystal clear in clarity. His image in her mind more sublime than any God, his voice an aphrodisiac which permeated the air. 

_“Good evening Wench.”_

_This was strange now. The way those emerald eyes turned her usually dormant regions to liquid molten. Her nickname on his tongue a necessary pretence but a far cry from the terms of endearment on the page._

_“I do think my statement the other day was true. You are growing skilfully elusive for one so tall.”_

_“It is unintentional I assure you.”_

_The Maid of Tarth swallowed, her timbre was wrong, she could hear it. Less warrior to knight and more woman to man. He heard it too – the quick raising of an eyebrow warning her to maintain neutrality._

**_How did I speak to him before? I can scarce remember._ **

_“I fear this afternoon in the armoury I was carried away upon a sea of my own thoughts. If an annoyed soldier reporting for night duty had not come hammering on the door I may have remained all evening.” She paused deliberately before adding._

_“I have been quite preoccupied today; I haven’t stopped to complete my usual tasks.”_

_(I haven’t written you yet)._

_“I see.” (I understand, your message will be late tonight). “Nothing troubling you I hope? Is Hyle Cunt still pleading his case?” (You’re not reconsidering us are you? Especially not for Ser Hyle?)_

_“I am not discontent. All good thoughts-” (I’m happy with us)._

_“-Except where Hyle is concerned. I can see that we are both of obstinate natures. He is determined to get his way and I am determined I would sooner swallow nails.” (I’m yours Jaime). “He is yet to learn that my stubborn streak exceeds his by miles.”_

_“Well he must be dim-witted because I learnt that within my first hour in your company.”_

_“You flatter me so.” **There, I did it. Our usual banter.**_

_It was then that Jaime faltered. Dragging his gaze up and down the entirety of her frame. Lingering too long upon the length of her legs to be chaste. It made a shiver of delight ripple over her flesh._

_“I best continue on My Lord.” (This is getting difficult). “Are your duties completed for tonight?”_

_“Yes. I am headed back to my chamber.” (You know where I’ll be).“And you?”_

_“I’m retiring as well.” She gulped just once. “Goodnight Ser Jaime.”_

_“Goodnight Lady Brienne.”_

**_Not goodnight. No - I don’t want you to go._ **

**_I want you to come with me. Lie with me. Do what lovers do…_ **

To this moment she had no idea how he had made the simple bidding of her goodnight sound so stimulating. But it was driving her insane. 

_He doesn’t know. He hasn’t the slightest clue how he makes me feel._

She had already been quite bold. Drafting a note the instant she entered her chamber. Sending him a token of her faith with just a hint of immodesty….

**_Love and trust are synonymous,_ **

**_Both commodities are earned,_ **

**_And when affection is shown in gestures,_ **

**_Such favours should be returned -_ **

****

**_Herein I enclose a symbol,_ **

**_Of how I hold you above,_ **

**_You are my chosen man,_ **

**_So please accept this token of my love –_ **

****

**_Jaime you have unlocked my heart,_ **

**_To you my love flows free,_ **

**_But as I cannot place it in a box,_ **

**_I have enclosed my bower key -_ **

****

**_No walls lie between us now, all barricades are gone,_ **

**_I will never shut you out,_ **

**_Faithfully, Anon._ **

****

When she secured her spare key in an envelope, she had praised herself for her daring. But now hours later she was re-evaluating. 

_It’s not enough._

Her Jaime was a gentleman. A man of honour on whom a maiden could rely. She knew that he would never use it. At least - not without her permission or consent. 

It was a romantic deed on her part, and she knew he would bask in her demonstration of confidence. 

_But I made no inference to how he makes me feel as a woman. To how he ignites me. Causes me insomnia. Conjures a want within me that is tantamount to pain…._

Brienne intently studied her Forget Me Nots. The darling faces of every minute bloom urging her to send another response. Inspiring the sequestered portion of her womanhood to be brave. Jaime had been so vulnerable in his last note. The words open and unrefined. Pure emotion laid bare. His heart exposed. 

_I should have answered in kind…_

Under the watchful gaze of blue flowers, she lifted a fresh sheet of parchment from the pile. 

_Poor Pod. I hope he will forgive me for sending him on a late errand – but I will definitely be sealing it myself._

<3 <3 <3 <3 <3

Jaime tried in vain to sleep, tossing and turning. His spirit restless even though the leaden weight of his limbs sunk deeply into the feather-down mattress. After his long day of guarding, training and enduring the tedium of Small Council he should rightfully be exhausted. Yet slumber was more evasive than a smuggler in the night. 

The lion knew what infiltrated his thoughts, intruding on his patterns. It took the shape of scrolled metalwork and fluted endpiece. A sign of ultimate faith from the woman he adored. And a temptation so alluring it was disruptive. 

_Seven Hells Wench, what are you doing to me? Giving me a key, which I cannot use - for I would not flout your trust._

_Letting me contemplate sheets warmed by your body, our icy feet entwined beneath the blankets. Rubbing for warmth and rousing each other until the last thing we both want is rest._

_But I could even settle for more decorous diversions – like the sound of you breathing across the pillow. What I wouldn’t give to share your bed… sleeping and waking with my woman. Though I know well how desire comes with risk and we could not be seen in the morning light..._

When he heard scrabbling against the floorboards, his first conclusion was that there must be a mouse. An audacious rodent savvy enough to survive corridors trawled by Tommen’s many felines.

He lay in the dark waiting for follow up scratching, for the tell-tale meow of a tabby on the hunt.

_Odd – the only reason the creature would come in here would be to avoid a cat. There’s no food to be had in these chambers._

Sitting up in bed, he squinted through the blackness towards his door, perceiving a rectangular shadow interrupting the glow.

_A note._ The idea made his pulse quicken. _I like the clandestine undercurrent of these late-night letters._

Jaime threw back the covers and leapt from the mattress, igniting a candle from the sconce on the wall and setting it upon his bedside table. Bounding over to retrieve the small envelope, holding it like a precious treasure as he returned to bed with it. 

_One way or another Wench, we are in bed together._

Chuckling at his own jape, he settled back into his pillow. Cracking the newly formed seal and discerning Brienne’s meticulously sculpted handwriting as his vision adjusted to the light.

****

**_My Lord are you awake?_ **

**_Robbed of sleep as I am?_ **

**_I understand we are where we need to be,_ **

**_But I will not lie about how it aches -_ **

****

**_I lay in bed envisaging you,_ **

**_And the things I’ve never done,_ **

**_How you would taste, smell, feel,_ **

**_Beneath the covers beside me… with me._ **

****

**_When I close my eyes, you’re here,_ **

**_Hovering just a hair’s breadth from my skin,_ **

**_But my imagination falls short in knowing,_ **

**_How it would feel to have you touch me -_ **

****

**_I am timid of these things, but wanting nonetheless,_ **

**_And I know it is impossible, but the thought…. Oh the thought._ **

**_Faithfully, Anon_ **

****

“Fuck.” He growled into the empty air; his cock excruciatingly hard. A frustrated exhale whooshing through his clenched teeth. 

_Somewhere in this Gods forsaken castle the love of my life is lying in bed, hankering for me to…_

At moments like this he could only take matters into his own hand. 

_And other times, it simply will not suffice._


	6. Day 5, Part 2 - Sleepless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/185980079@N02/49831911703/in/dateposted-public/)  
> 
> 
> Cover Art by Ro_Nordmann
> 
> Follows on directly from the end of previous chapter  
>  (NSFW, things are heating up)

Brienne’s eyes fluttered open to the tell-tale clicking of a key in a lock. The pitch-black chamber quiet and still except for the distinctly metallic sound. She did not know the hour. Her fitful attempts at drifting off skewing her perception of time.

  
A beam of light filtered through the darkness, blinking when a human silhouette dashed in front of it. The golden line guttering out as hastily as it appeared, plunging the room back into ink as the clacking recommenced. The door locked tight behind her unexpected guest. Sealing them in together.   
  
_There is only one person who has a key to my chamber…  
  
_

She had wondered if her provocative note would elicit a reaction but she never envisaged it being so immediate. 

_Our feelings truly are mutual._

  
Brienne raised one knee, sliding her foot across the mattress. Lifting herself halfway up on her elbows and blinking into the tenebrosity. Even the sharpest eyes would be lost for orientation in the interminable abyss which now swallowed her bower. Her thick tapestry curtains pulled flush, suffocating the faint slivers of moonlight, muting outlines and details into a solid void. She had hoped the dim would aid her quest for slumber but with this unprecedented turn of events, she found it instead depriving her of broad shoulders and scintillating emeralds. 

"J-"  
“Shhhhh.” 

  
She only pronounced a sound, the initial syllable hanging in the dense ambience when his breath whistled closely to her ear, hushing his name on her lips. As if the spell would be broken if they addressed the words aloud. The lingering veil of intrigue provided by the velvety blackness echoing their dance of anonyms on the page.  
  
Every sense was enhanced in the absence of sight. She could feel his presence close to her, leaning in. Causing the delicate hairs on her arms to stand on end in heightened anticipation, flesh erupting in small bumps. Her body responding to his static, pulled closer to him in every small way as if by magnetism. His physique pulsating with raw heat and masculine power. 

Their laboured exhales collided in the motionless air, washing over her collarbone one minute, then neck the next. Their throaty journey from lung to lip the only source of sound in the silence. 

Her nostrils filling with the scent of his breath, hair and clean skin. The fragrances amplified by the close quarters, mingling to form a heady aroma of wine, lye and an intoxicant unique to him. Exclusively Jaime.

  
She didn't have to hear his voice, see his face. Brienne had inhaled deep chestfuls of him many times before. During a bout in the yard, at dinner with Bolton or talking in the White Sword Tower. 

_But never before like this._  
  


It was familiar but also foreign. Occasional downdrafts compared to a windstorm. Strong enough to befuddle as she immersed herself fully in its addictive quality. 

She sighed as she felt his beard against her face. His lips skim her cheek, painting a gentle line over her sensitive scarred flesh. Working his way down towards her mouth.  
  
_He's kissing me... Jaime is kissing me._  
  
The elation when he finally melded his lips with hers was giddying. Tongue seeking an entry which she gladly gave. Glorying in the tickle of bristles against her soft skin, the seductive way he drew out every movement of his tongue. She moaned quietly, leaving him in no doubt how she welcomed this unscheduled encounter. Placing her full balance on one arm so she could fist long fingers in his hair, keeping him locked in their duel of mouths. 

  
_I'm his, I’m his. Propriety by damned.  
_  
He trailed his left hand down her opposite arm, brushing over gooseflesh, further electrifying every spot where his fingers contacted. Fulfilling the musings from her note in ways that superseded illusionary limits. He cupped his hand around her elbow where it anchored her, tugging it loose so she tumbled back into the mattress. She emitted a gasp at his impudence but a smile he would never see stretched across her mouth. 

Then the feathery down beneath her dipped, registering a new weight. His knees settling between hers, nudging her thighs apart. His presence tantalising, his muscular body looming above her, their joint mass sinking them deeper into the mattress as his kisses recommenced. 

Brienne wrapped her arms around him, palms wandering the planes of his back and length of spine through his thin cotton nightshirt. Marvelling at how her instincts could change from war to pillow play. In a fight being pinned by her opponent made her ferocious, desperate to regain the upper hand. In her bed it was an exquisite yield, conceding happily to his experienced fingers and lips. A nest of blankets and softness cocooning her between the mattress and her lover.   
  
_Lover._

  
Her brain snatched at that rogue word, manifesting of its own volition from a drifting romantic realm. The hearth of suitors and sentiment, its fire comprised of the burning flames each carried beneath their ribs. The candles of devotion, with their partner’s name chiselled into the wax. 

Its borders were lined with ardour, a thousand passionate torches lighting the whole plane with its emotion. Until the empire of love itself glowed with splendour, beckoning to mere mortals, encouraging them to strive. Ascend to its divine beatitude.

Or that's what she fantasised. As a youth, dejected with tear-stained cheeks. A girl learning not to cry, to stop searching for a gateway beyond the boundaries of her fate. 

For the Maid of Tarth was never given directions to this haven. It's location impossible to pinpoint. She was filtered out, dismissed from the running by her shroud of ugliness. The path blocked unless strolled by two hand in hand – and no one was ever going to choose her as their companion to such grandeur. 

  
But now - the ethereal paradise spoke to her, guide beacons shining the way. Unfurling the secret staircase to this lofty heaven. Smiling at her for finding her mate. For belonging with the other half of her soul. 

_‘Here is your lover….’_ It whispered as Jaime's tongue swiped the crease of her neck, his mouth seeking her marks and imperfections as if they were jewels to be unearthed. His aim was slightly off, finding his way in the dark by memory. Though proving with each pointed press of lips just how closely he paid attention to her little details.   
  
She roamed her own hand from his shoulder down his right arm, fingers enclosing around his stump, holding tight in her own gesture of veneration.  
  
_Our flaws make us unique. Our scars an extension of our tale. Jumping from body to body as though a continuous thread. Thigh joins to forehead, then wrist to cheek and finally my neck. Chaining us together. An intermingled tapestry depicting our story and love._   
  
Where others would recoil, they rejoiced. What shallow spirits would consider grotesque, they found beautiful. And all was amplified by the sense of touch. Rough skin, puckered flesh, lines which could be felt instead of seen. Each inch individual and sensual, so that tracing it once was not enough. Working over the same patch again and again, discovering and reading its singularity through texture. Her fingers on the seam of his wrist, his tongue on the burn of her neck. Until it became like twigs rubbing together, friction striking sparks. Igniting a fire in their hearts and loins.

His length fought against the confines of his breeches. Laces stretched taut as they pressed into her thigh. Imprinting their pattern of criss-crosses into her alabaster flesh, pushed forward by his engorged eagerness. Her own smallclothes were sodden. The flimsy fabric sticking flush to the curve of her mound. Soaked through with her readiness to welcome him.

Jaime slipped his stump from her grasp, leaning his forearm beside her shoulder for support. His movements indicated by the shift of the mattress beneath her. Brienne lay supine, holding her breath in her lungs. Suspended in time as she awaited his next move. Cold air tingling against the damp marks left by the worship of his lips, each second which passed seeming like an hour in the agony of being left wanting. 

She could hear the rustling of fabric; the almost inaudible whipping noise of cord being pulled through material. A sound she may not have recognised if she was not well versed in male attire herself. _He is unlacing._

He surprised her then, taking her own hand beneath his. Twining their fingers together, gliding them down over her stomach, to the juncture of her thighs. Guiding them beneath the waistband of her smallclothes, until her palm ran over her mass of curls and to the waiting slick of her nethers. 

Her breath shot from her mouth in a short blast, startled and aroused by where he was leading them. Tormented by the prickle of his beard against the corner of her mouth as he kissed her – his positioning this time purposefully off-centre. Teasing her yearning. 

She squeaked. Brienne was certain in her whole life she had never before produced such a shrill noise. Her normally contralto tonality strangled by want as he scandalously caressed her with her own hand, wetness drenching her palm and fingers. 

Then he pulled her away, their united hands withdrawing from the clinging snare of her undergarments. Jaime gently directing her across the small distance between their hips, bringing her to his waiting hardness. His digits closed around her own, coaxing her to grasp him. The pads of her fingers making their first contact with his throbbing cock. A maidenly tentative exploration of its ridges and length, the girth and feel in her hand reminding her somewhat of a sword’s grip, the head as if a pommel in her palm. The similarity was pleasing, lessening the bashfulness of her inexperience and she found her hold mimicked how she would attain balance with a new blade. Intuitively adjusting her pressure. Tight but flexible, hugging but non-restrictive. 

_Only my swords never groan when I clench my fingers._

His hand slid to her wrist, steering her to move with patient persuasion. The gathered moisture from her own arousal enabling her hand to slip easily over his shaft. The motions coming to her with a natural effortlessness, making her take delight at being able to gratify her man. His laborious breathing becoming stronger with each deliberate stroke of her calloused palm. 

Jaime’s guiding hold departed, leaving her to determine her rhythm. His strenuous puffs indicating just how much he was relishing her pace. Kissing her ardently behind the ear, nuzzling into her neckline, whilst his fingers crawled back beneath her smallclothes, slinking between her sopping petals. 

Brienne’s tempo faltered as her most intimate of parts became accustomed to his touch. The feel of large, manly fingers parting her folds, circling her sensitive pearl. Skating skilfully to places of which she knew very little. He awakened them with a touch, taking ignored regions of her body and making them her entire being. A warrior woman transformed into a writhing wanton, giving him praise with her quiet mewls. 

Then he stilled, fingers freezing in place like statues and she briefly wondered what torturous game this was until he rocked his hips, his rigidity thrusting into her stationary hand. 

_I know now what we are playing._

She nipped her way to his neck, finding where his pulse thundered, suckling on his skin and beginning to move her hand again. Kneading his head, massaging his base, growing more adventurous with each passing beat. Simultaneously he resumed his attentions, dipping the tip of a finger inside her, teasing her entrance before pushing all the way in and she stopped herself just short of biting him in the ensuing wave of ecstasy. 

This was their one upmanship now, their duel away from the yard. With clashing swords Jaime and Brienne would test and best each other. In the blackness of the bedroom their pseudonyms attended to one another’s needs. Petting and fondling their private locales with the same competitive spirit. 

If he stopped, she ceased. If she became daring, he became bold. Both increasingly reckless in their pursuit of satisfying the other, their intensifying ministrations driving them wild. She swallowed her whimpers, biting her lip to hold them back. The chamber of the Maid of Tarth could not have amorous screams ricocheting from the walls. He buried his face in her neck, her pillow. Muffling his growls as they canted and panted. Their bodies bottling their pleasure, quivering as they begged for release. His arm trembled against her shoulder, barely holding him aloft. The muscles of her thighs quaked, rocked by the energy radiating from her core. 

Brienne dissolved first. The inkiness in front of her eyes seeming to burst with vibrant colour. Exploding in every marvellous shade the universe had to offer. Tiny lights swam in front of her vision, each one a standard bearer of the sensations which reverberated throughout the entirety of her giant frame. A dance of fire and stars which made joyous tears wet her lashes, the resplendence more beautiful than anything she had ever dreamed. 

A million thoughts were hitched to those glimmering apparitions. Declarations of love bubbling up and fading on her tongue. The pervading mystery surrounding their dalliance hushing her to sweet unintelligible murmurs as she nosed into his ear. Her hand continuing to massage his swollen manhood with fervour, determined to see him delivered to the same state of satiation.

It didn’t take long for him to follow, purring against her shoulderblade. His entire physique jarring as he pulled away from her grip, presumably spending in her sheet. His breathing was almost words, the way the wind could often sound like voices and she wondered if he wanted to speak but reconsidered in the same way she had, settling instead for kissing her collarbone. Lying his cheek against her chest whilst he recovered. 

The Lady of Tarth did not know how long they lay there, listening to their breathing evening out. Lacing fingers absentmindedly through his mane of curls, her eyelids growing heavy. 

She was almost asleep when he lifted from her embrace. The removal of his weight from her chest leaving her feeling immediately lonely as she focussed on the sounds of rustling linen, rolling slightly to the side as he gathered the sheet from under her. 

Brienne felt him fumble blindly for her face, trying to regain his sense of direction and she caught his hand between hers, guiding him to her cheek. He kissed her lips lovingly, the brush of their mouths imbued with tenderness and resignation. The hesitance she felt when he pulled away enough to convince her Jaime would have stayed the entire night and well into the morning if he could. 

With a heavy heart she watched the crack of light appear again, this time taking her man away. Shutting her in a chamber which now felt exceedingly empty. But Brienne knew to bask in blessings, to count the gifts that she was given rather than lament what she could not change. And inside, for the first time in her life, she beamed with an unprecedented sense of fulfilment. 


	7. Day 6:  Looking Forward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/185980079@N02/49831911703/in/dateposted-public/)  
>    
> 
> 
> Cover Art by Ro_Nordmann
> 
> The day after their late night rendezvous...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi readers!  
> So I have now updated the final chapter count, with one more chapter to come after this one.  
> Completion will be before the end of February as promised. :)

“Two days left Uncle.” Myrcella’s chirping tone brought him out of his reverie. 

Jaime stood gazing out the oriel window, craning his neck in an attempt to see the yard. If he could just catch a glimpse of Brienne; see her carriage, her gait, perhaps it would assuage his worries. Indicate her mood. 

_We loved in the night and then we parted without a word. How am I supposed to know what she is thinking? Is she mad at me for leaving? Does she understand I could not endanger her by staying? Even if I was longing to sleep upon her breast. I could have lain there with her stroking my hair until the end of ages…_

“You are far away.” His daughter remarked with an impish smirk. “I will not ask what has you so enthralled outside…”

“Watching for danger of course Princess.” Jaime’s response was equally mischievous, glancing at where Tommen wrangled kittens on the floor. Their coded speech for his benefit. “It is my duty as Kingsguard after all.”

“That is far more interesting than notes.” Tommen muttered, holding a bundle of feathers above grappling paws. He continued to sulk about his older wife’s many admirers. “I don’t think we should have Sonnet Sennight anymore. I’m the King, I could outlaw it…” 

“Brother-” Myrcella placated soothingly. “- if you ban the celebration for subsequent years, how will Margaery ever receive a note from her beloved husband? I am sure you are the only one she wants to hear from.” She tousled his curls in a way which made him swat at her hand. 

_Would you look at that… How siblings are supposed to behave._

“Well I must compose my sonnet for Trystane, if I do not get it sent soon it will be delayed even further than the distance between us dictates. My messages will already be arriving well after the Sennight is passed, ravens can only fly so swiftly.” Myrcella scooped up a small white kitten, stroking its soft fur as she straightened. “Tommen dear, I do so adore having your company. Would you like to help me write it? Mayhaps it will change your mind about the occasion…”

“No!” The King sprang to his feet, wide eyed and shaking his head. Skittish kittens scattering at his sudden movement. “I have to practise at quintain.” He bowed quickly to his uncle and sister, recovering from his childlike slip to affect a regal stance. “Please forgive me but I must depart.” 

They both suppressed a chuckle as he greeted Ser Meryn outside the door, giving him orders to accompany him to the stables. 

“Deftly done.” Jaime nodded, impressed. “Courtly diplomacy is a talent of yours.” 

“I have Lannister blood do I not?” She deposited the kitten on a silk cushion, giving him a pointed look. Implying much more than she was saying. “Come-” Myrcella hooked her small arm through his, letting him lead her to the solar. “-We have notes to write.” 

“I have appreciated your help – honestly more than I can say. But – I hope you will not be offended if I try my very messy hand at writing and sealing today’s myself. There are some private thoughts I wish to address.” 

She twirled straight into his path, regarding him with clever green eyes. “Offended? Not at all. But your scrawl will be recognisable. Am I correct in assuming this means the Lady knows who courts her?” 

“You are too astute for your own good.” He wrinkled his nose playfully, fighting another surge of fatherly pride. 

“Then from your quill and heart the words shall flow.” Myrcella settled back beside him, her smile slowly fading. “May I ask if you have given thought to tomorrow? The celebrations come to a close and your correspondence will have to end.”

“I know.” He responded soberly. “The march of time is a consequence neither of us considered. I don’t suppose we ever thought we would come to know each other’s identities. Nor find a reciprocal love so fierce.”

“What shall you do?”

Jaime raised a despondent shoulder. “There is naught to be done. So, I will write today’s note and count the hours until I get a response.”

<3 <3 <3 <3 <3

For the umpteenth time she checked the spring in her step. Reining in her jubilant spirits to walk with her trademark purposeful stride. Quelling the urge to attack the stairs two at a time. 

Podrick was already suspect. Her demeanour uncharacteristically buoyant when they met at breakfast, further compounded by the manner in which she floated throughout her activities of the day. She observed intermittent fascination flash across his face, wanting to make enquiries but knowing it was impudent. Even her unfortunate collision with Ser Hyle in the courtyard had not succeeded in dampening her disposition. 

Brienne could not help her gaiety. Misery had been a suffusing theme in her life. Death, despair and rejection the only bankable certainties. But last night she had tasted paradise. Her ultimate desires coming to fruition with the brush of Jaime’s lips, their tumble of tongues and fevered touches. 

Loving and being loved in return. 

_There could never be anything more rapturous - unless of course…._

She blushed, turning her face to the wall in case her reddened cheeks caught the attention of a passing chamber maid. The thought of how her White Knight had respectfully left her intact persistently resurfacing. Ripe with the promise of what could come….

_If it could._

Common sense dictated that their actions last night were heedless. From her sending Podrick on a late errand to Jaime’s stealthy visit. She knew the halls would have been deserted, but that fact itself would make it much more difficult to explain away if he were happened upon. 

It was this thought alone that had the power to diminish her exuberance. Throwing a pail of cold water over fantasies of a recurrence. Comforting herself that love would always find a way – but failing to foresee a viable solution. 

_We are both loyal. We are both determined. If any couple can figure out a way to be together – we can._

Entering her room, she immediately dropped her gaze to the floor. Squatting to collect the small note. 

_It is not from Hyle, that is plain after our confrontation earlier._

She sat on the edge of her freshly made bed, relieved that the castle staff had the discretion not to enquire about the absence of her sheet. Taking comfort that a missing linen was far less incriminating than evidence of their encounter being discovered.

_Jaime has forethought – I deduce that came from many years of practice, concealing his affair with Cersei. Such a depressing concept, that necessity has driven this wondrous man to always hide in shadow. Never shouting his love from rooftops or holding his woman in the sun. I would gladly embrace him in public, be proud to kiss him upon greeting. But he is Lord Commander of the Kingsguard and his sister is both vindictive and spurned. Our need for secrecy was writ from the onset. But a love which flourishes under impossible odds proves its veracity and strength. We hide not from shame but to protect each other._

Brienne fingered the enveloped affectionately, savouring the moment of excitement before she opened it. Knowing it was likely the second last she would receive. 

_You cannot postpone the inevitable…._

Sighing, she slid her fingers beneath the heart and parted the folded flaps. 

Subsequently melting when she saw the childlike script, beholding the first correspondence scribed with a left hand. The effort and strain making each syllable overwhelmingly personal and touching.

**_I tore myself away,_ **

**_But I left my heart behind,_ **

**_To bask in the warmth of your covers,_ **

**_For our predicament is unkind –_ **

****

**_If I had a choice, I’d linger,_ **

**_Past melting snow and summer storms,_ **

**_Until towers crumble to dust,_ **

**_And the end of existence dawns –_ **

****

**_For there is nowhere I would rather be,_ **

**_Than content in your embrace,_ **

**_Rising and falling with your bosom,_ **

**_Watching the morning rays caress your face –_ **

****

**_My longing is to be with you, we are more than a liaison,_ **

**_We are together in thought every moment my love,_ **

**_Devotedly, Anon._ **

****

_I knew that my Jaime. I could feel it in your kiss, emanating through your pores. Your reluctance at leaving was palpable. I would never hold you to ransom for a situation beyond your control._

He had made her reply all too simple. 

_He needs to know I have no regrets and that I - above all others - understand him. I would never think he was using me, seeking his pleasure and then abandoning my bed. His motives cannot be misconstrued by the person who can read his subtleties, interpret the essence of his soul._

Brienne knew then, could see it clearly. This is what it meant to be Jaime’s woman – truly knowing him and having his back. The ability to see through the smoke, mirrors and obstacles which clouded their way. Supporting him, even when the hurdles seemed insurmountable.

_We have overcome greater trials my beloved. We will do it again._

<3 <3 <3 <3 <3

_Who’d have thought – the ceiling is as mundane as the rest of the chamber._

Jaime stretched out on the hard-wooden floorboards, straightening his spine after another rigorous afternoon training session. Or at least that was the story he was telling himself. 

Accepting his age and blaming the damp cold seeping into his bones was one thing, but admitting he was really there to monitor the slot beneath his door was another. 

He turned his golden head, watching the empty hall through the inch-wide crack. The White Sword Tower was one of the quieter locations in the Red Keep; with alternating duties and shifts there was seldom more than one Kingsguard in residence at any given time. 

_Which means the first boots I spy belong to Brienne’s trusty delivery Squire._

Returning his gaze to the roof above, he folded his arms lazily behind his head. Resting his crown in the palm of his hand, his stump falling short of providing any cushioning. He did not mind, everything was comfortable compared to his dungeon at Riverrun and he yawned languidly, a satisfied smirk reminding him how little he had slept the previous evening. The entire scene seeming quite comical to his relaxed state of mind. 

_I am personifying a children’s tale. Waiting in a lofty tower for word from my beloved._

_Only my part is usually played by a maiden fair._

He laughed at himself, acknowledging how ridiculous he would look to the outside world. 

_I should be the Knight storming the fortress with my blade brandished high - not idling away the hours. Somehow these roles got reversed…. Though in all truthfulness – I think my Lady would prefer scaling the walls and manning the battlements alongside me._

The thought made him proud. His woman was unconventional and self-sufficient. Her independent, stubborn ways both bothersome and irresistible. The combination more appetising to him than the daintiest delicacy of a dessert the best cook in Westeros could create. He licked his lips as he pictured her, violently swinging her tourney sword, levelling every arrogant braggart who thought he could stand in her way. 

He had always found it quite stirring. The displays of Brienne’s immense strength and stamina. Her prowess equalled only by her unyielding determination. 

Battles unfolded in the eye of his subconscious, man after man hitting the dirt. But Jaime’s focus strayed to the rippling muscles of her thighs, the reach of her impressive arms. 

After a stretch, the blurred image of random opponents morphed to become Hyle Hunt and he revelled in the sight of his swordswench obliterating the lout more than all the precursors combined. Jaime indulged in that fantasy several times over, playing it on repeat. Exaggerating the damage she inflicted to Hunt’s body and ego with each successive defeat. 

Then he added an extension to the end of the sequence –

A closing act where Brienne removed her helmet in a single swift movement, noticing him cheering at the sidelines and swaggering over to greet him. Droplets of sweat running down the ivory pillar of her neck and disappearing below the collar of her undertunic. He knew from there they ran the ravine of her breasts, the saturated fabric plastered to her small buds, if only her pesky armour wasn’t in the way. 

_“I didn’t know you were watching.” She murmured shyly, sidling closer. “Where is Podrick?”_

_“He is busy with a task I conveniently gave him.” Jaime brought the tip of his nose to hers. “I volunteered to Squire for you in his place.”_

_“Are you not overqualified?”_

_“No.” His mouth was just a whisker from hers. “I am happy to serve you.”_

_He pulled her into a passionate kiss, undaunted by the many watchers who hooted at them. Relishing the scowl from Hyle as he limped, bruised and humiliated from the sludge._

_“Now I take my responsibilities very seriously.” He pulled at her bottom lip with his teeth between sentences, making her whimper. “And my first duty is to get you back inside, where I can begin to remove this armour piece by piece…”_

A thudding upon the floorboards jerked him from his dozing. 

_Damn footsteps._

Jaime grumbled, letting his lids shutter again, before realisation flooded him. 

_Footsteps!_

His eyes flew open just in time to see a pair of cautious leather clad feet, pushing a small parchment envelope beneath the door. Jaime’s hand flew out, snatching it before it had even been released. A gasp of shock sounding from beyond the timber. 

“Thank you.” Jaime’s tone was all amusement as he listened to the distinguishable mumbling which could only beyond to Podrick. The shy lad stumbling and tripping over his words as he made a hasty retreat. 

“Y-yyour welcome S-ser.”

The lion lord continued to snigger as he opened the envelope with one hand, growing quite adept at knowing where to place his fingers. Trying to push fretful thoughts aside, fearing that contents therein may contain remorse or reproach for their conduct the previous evening. 

He took a deep breath, steeling himself for the worst but letting his faith in their love be his optimism. 

_Let’s see what my Lady has to say…._

**_Today the birds envy me,_ **

**_For I fly higher than they soar,_ **

**_Our stolen touches enlivening,_ **

**_Leaving me only wanting more -_ **

****

**_We have harmony my heart,_ **

**_And you never need explain,_ **

**_For trust and understanding,_ **

**_Nullifies the source of pain -_ **

****

**_I know our love is constant,_ **

**_All-encompassing and real,_ **

**_And when our lips are kept apart_ **

**_We will kiss through steel -_ **

****

**_We write our own rules beloved, together we forge on,_ **

**_For our souls are indivisible,_ **

**_Faithfully, Anon_ **

****

As he finished an idea seized him, inspired by her words. The brilliance of it chasing away all remnants of drowsiness as he sat up straight, re-reading the last few lines and already scrambling to his feet.

_One day left. The day where most would make their offers of marriage. The jewellers will be exceptionally busy today. But my woman is cut from a different cloth…_

He shrugged into his surcoat, grabbing a pouch of Lannister gold from the drawer and dashing out the door. 

<3 <3 <3 <3 <3

“And for a hilt that is tinted blue?” Brienne tested the varying designs of Longswords in her hand, checking their weight and balance. They were simple blades but finely crafted, with sharp edges and grips built for comfort rather than ostentation. 

_But that is precisely what I want – Jaime has many fine swords for the sake of exhibitionism, this is for practical use in the yard._

After completing her note and passing it to Podrick for delivery, the Maid of Tarth headed straight for the Streel of Steel with a mission in mind. She had inbuilt a line in her note foreshadowing the very gift she was about to buy. A symbolic gesture for the man she loved upon the final day of Sonnet Sennight. 

“They are more costly.” Tobho Mott was using every selling technique in the book to drive up the price. “I am the sole Master Armourer who possesses the skills to imbue the steel with true colour. My expertise does not come cheaply but you can be assured that the hue will not fade over time.” 

“Hmmmm.” She continued to browse the array of weaponry, maintaining neutrality. 

_I must seem unimpressed or the price will increase again._

“ _If_ I were to select the more expensive design, I would expect the inscription to be complimentary _w_ _ith_ the assurance of completion by tomorrow morning.”

“But My Lady you must appreciate that to etch in steel takes time and precision-“

Brienne suppressed the urge to roll her eyes. 

_Merchants are the only breed of men who make ready use of my title. To them it amounts to two things of benefit to their cause: Shameless flattery (in the hopes that I will be charmed) and Coin (working off the presumption that a Lady and heir must have money)._

Contrary to common belief her pockets did not run deep. She was prudent with her funds but it had been a long time since she had left the abundant treasury of Evenfall and the bags of coin Jaime had provided were taken from her by the Brotherhood. Upon arrival back in King’s Landing she was once again adequately provisioned, given lodgings in the stronghold, clothes and an allowance of coin. The fact that Jaime was her unnamed benefactor a subject neither addressed. 

_It is another conversation I have never had with Jaime. Clarifying relics of memory from a time when I cared little for his opinion and vexing each other became sport. Only now we are partnered, and it matters to me what he thinks. I want him to comprehend my rationale. After our trip through the Riverlands, he must think I’m frivolous with money._

Just like in all things, Brienne would let common sense dictate her decision making and when it came to haggling, she had a set of guidelines:

Brienne would be generous with smallfolks, paying them more than was customary. Hoping to improve their way of life through her patronage. 

Or, when the need was dire and the acquisition was necessary to the continuation of her quest, she would pay any exorbitant price. Better to pay when you had the funds than to risk not obtaining the goods. 

But when the purchase was non-essential, desired singularly for recreational purposes. 

_And_ when the merchant was wealthy himself and flagrantly profiteering off those more affluent – she took no issue with driving a hard bargain. 

“It is but five letters. Surely a Master Armourer of your renown could have it completed in no time. I did not for a moment anticipate the task was too hard. If I have asked you to overextend yourself, I apologise and shall seek alternate arrangements….”

“My Lady!” 

The panic in his tone indicated her success and she paused at the exit, pivoting on her heel and regarding him sternly. 

“This is a week of love and as such I am in a most generous frame of mind.” He clasped his hands in front of him. “I will gladly fulfil the personalisation you request without additional charge and it will be ready by first light on the morrow.”

“Thank you, Master Mott.” 

<3 <3 <3 <3 <3 

“Lord Lannister, your family have been my most eminent and generous of patrons for years and of course I would move mountains to ensure your needs are not only met but _exceeded!_ ” The Qohorik extended out his arms in an all-encompassing sweep. “But it causes me physical pain to say, what you ask is impossible. I have already committed myself to an urgent order.” 

_Mott is really outdoing himself this time._

Jaime leant casually against a pillar beside the counter, folding his arms and raising a sceptical eyebrow. “I’m sure with the right incentive you would manage.” Opening the pouch he tossed an additional gold dragon on the counter. “That aught to be enough to employ your apprentices to work all night if necessary.” 

“Oh! You are most magnanimous My Lord.”

“I’m sure I am.” Jaime replied, a sardonic smirk contorting his handsome features. “Red tinted hilt and you know the word I want engraved on the blade. Make it subtle but elegant. It must be legible only to the wielder up close.” 

“As you command Ser.” 

_This will do nicely, Brienne cherishes Oathkeeper so much she will only unsheathe it in dire situations. For daily duels she uses the castle-forged steel and it is unequal to her skill._

It was only as the lion Lord was leaving that he contemplated the strange expression on the Master Armourer’s face. An inscrutable mix of puzzled bewilderment. 

_How very peculiar – surely ordering a practice blade isn’t that unusual…_


	8. Day 7:  Poetry in Motion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/185980079@N02/49831911703/in/dateposted-public/)  
>    
> 
> 
> Cover Art by Ro_Nordmann
> 
> Love forges its own path as Sonnet Sennight concludes...

The castle was utter madness as Brienne shouldered her way through the crowded halls. Passing bowers of rosebuds which never failed to make her cringe whilst the sea of velvety petals strewn across the carpets crushed beneath her boots. 

The ladies of the court giggled and pranced on their way back from the seamstress, trailed by attendants carrying immaculately pressed gowns in shades of rose and pink. Chamber doors slamming as they bustled to prettify themselves on time. 

At noon the grand ball would commence, revelry stretching long into the night. The culminating celebration of Sonnet Sennight, marking the end of the festivities. 

Traditionally, this was the first occasion were the new couples stepped out arm in arm. Maidens blushing demurely beside their beaus – more often than not announcing betrothals, proudly flaunting their engagement jewels and sharing their first waltz. 

Brienne had only ventured out in search of Podrick. The lad presuming that their daily routine would proceed as normal irrespective of the occasion. She had found him shining her armour and kindly issued him with new instructions for the day, entrusting her final note into his care. 

He was to visit Tobho Mott’s, collecting the blade and making his last delivery of the week. After that he could have the rest of the day off and attend the ball if he was feeling courageous. 

“Are you going M’Lady Ser?”

The Maid of Tarth had chuckled, shaking her head vehemently. “Oh no. I have a rich and negative history will balls. I will be quite content to spend the day in my chamber – there I can await much more pleasant diversions than dancing and gawking.” 

She unlocked the door to her room, slipping inside and shutting out the hubbub behind her. Inhaling the tranquillity of her abode, as if serenity were a scent in the air. 

It was after a few deep calming lungfuls that she opened her azure eyes again, instantly noticing a giant box sitting upon the end of her bed.

_Cheeky Ser Jaime – abusing the privilege of my key in order to leave a package._

She bit her bottom lip as a smile lit up her homely face. 

_It is bittersweet, such a wonderful surprise but also the last we shall exchange._

Brienne was about to cross and inspect her delivery when a note was roughly shoved beneath her door. 

_Hyle. I had my suspicions he was trying to catch up to me in the corridors. Thank goodness for the throngs of merrymakers._

Getting the unpleasantness out of the way, she ripped open the seal with a grimace. 

**_Meet me at the ball and we will make our betrothal official._ **

**_This is your final opportunity._ **

**_Failure to do so will mean the withdrawal of my offer._ **

**_Ser Hyle Hunt_ **

****

_Just another thing to make me glad I am not attending._

Striding over to her writing desk, she seized two pieces of parchment, quickly scribbling on the first: 

**_I am relieved to have you withdraw your offer._ **

**_Consider this an official refusal._ **

**_I will NEVER marry you._ **

**_Lady Brienne of Tarth - Contented Spinster_ **

_He needn't know that if I could, I would marry Ser Jaime in a heartbeat._

_In fact it is better if Hyle thinks just the opposite - that I am resolved to forswear both match and mate._

Blowing on the ink, she sealed the note. Using the second piece of parchment to draft a quick apology to Podrick, asking him to pass the note to Hunt at the ball. 

Keeping the instructions clearly visible and tying the notes together, she braved the ruckus outside to dart over to Pod’s neighbouring chamber and slip the letter under the door. 

Now with that irksome duty complete, she could take all the time she wanted to unwrap Jaime’s final delivery in peaceful solitude. 

Brienne perched on the end of the bed, running her fingers along the edges of the box in reverence and awe, petting the smooth texture of the silken ribbon which bound it closed, already lovelier than any gift she could imagine. 

Threaded beneath the bow was his note and as she removed it from under the sash, the words upon its exterior came into view. 

**_My Beloved Brienne_ **

The Maid of Tarth banished the tears from her eyes. Unfurling its precious contents with the utmost care. Cherishing the keepsake that the thin parchment would become. Wanting to read Jaime’s lasting message of love without the watery veil obscuring her vision.

**_Today should be a proposal,_ **

**_For I would gladly take you to wife,_ **

**_Beg you to be mine for eternity,_ **

**_Swear my love to you for life –_ **

****

**_Our situation prevents this,_ **

**_But know the dedication is just as true,_ **

**_And I avow to you my utter ‘Devotion,’_ **

**_In the name of Old Gods and the New –_ **

****

**_Accept from me this token,_ **

**_Along with my earnest vow,_ **

**_That we will come together,_ **

**_As frequently as circumstances allow –_ **

****

**_Our love does not have an end date, it prevails hereupon,_ **

**_And indeed, we will ‘kiss through steel’ My Lady,_ **

**_Devotedly, Anon._ **

****

_It cannot be…._

She tugged frantically at the ribbons, disbelief and emotion welling up from inside her chest, reaching her eyes and throat. 

Brienne had heard tales of lovers having a connection which defied the laws of logic and reason. An intrinsic understanding, where their souls were bound so tightly they seemed to share thoughts. It was the same concept that had begun Sonnet Sennight. The idea that soulmates could recognise each other through the disguise of page and ink. 

The Maid of Tarth had thought it all sentimental foolishness. 

_Until now._

Lifting the lid, she choked back an overwhelmed sob. Spying within a practise sword with Tobho Mott’s maker’s mark. The hilt coloured red to represent her Lannister Lord. The name discreetly inscribed on the blade near the handle, a private reminder intended only for her eyes. 

_‘Devotion.’_

<3 <3 <3 <3 <3

“Trystane is coming!” Myrcella sailed into his arms with a rustling of pink taffeta, her infectious excitement causing a smile to erupt across his face, emerald eyes crinkling at the corners. He had just completed his shift guarding Tommen and wanted to check in with the Princess before he held a meeting of the Kingsguard to arrange their posts for the ball. He had tactically scheduled himself for the morning shift, therefore liberating him from duty for the rest of the day. “A raven arrived at dawn, he set out via ship at the beginning of Sonnet Sennight to reach me in time. He had written my notes in advance and organised for the Ravens to be sent so I would not suspect. Isn’t it glorious?!” She clasped his forearms, paying no heed to his golden hand. Treating his arm as if it were whole. 

“I am delighted for you.” After her assistance with his own intrigue, he could begrudge his daughter nothing. If harnessing the moon or rearranging the stars in the sky would make her this happy, then she deserved nothing less. Though he could not resist a tiny paternal warning, delivered under the guise of caring uncle. “Though I trust he will be respectful.” 

She scoffed in the way only a youthful girl would. “We will be at the ball! Under the watchful gaze of Mother, the Kingsguard and half the Court.” 

“Still the Dornish have a reputation….”

“You forget I lived there. If anyone is versed in how to handle their wiles it is I.” 

“Then I will trust you and wish you a marvellous time.” 

“Am I correct to assume by that statement you will not be coming?” Releasing him, she collected the skirts of her opulent gown in her hand, ensuring she did not tread upon the ruffled trim as she picked her way across the room. 

“Yes. There is nothing to tempt me to attend I’m afraid. I can neither hold my Lady's hand nor ask her to dance – so I fear it would just be torture. I would rather check my chamber for a response from her and savour what little of this week remains.” 

“I understand.” She retrieved the metal key from her nightstand, returning it into Jaime’s palm. “Your package was securely collected and delivered by one of my Ladies. No questions were asked. The servant I entrusted with the task is exceeedingly loyal. Besides, if you do not mind my saying so – I believe the surmise is that I am being charitable. Taking pity on the Maid and organising these surprises as an act of kindness, believing that no woman should be left out. I am sorry that I cannot correct the theory. I know it is a sad conclusion but I do feel our secrecy is protected under its cloak of ambiguity.” 

“I agree. Her safety is paramount and comes first. Even above malicious gossip.” He nodded, silently detesting how the masses could never find a way to see past Brienne’s face. That they so easily overlooked the kind, generous person who took refuge within her hulking shell. 

_More for me, she is mine to appreciate and I pray that the knowledge of my undying love hereafter becomes her shield. So that malevolent words from superficial arseholes can never injure her sweet spirit again._

“I must thank you sincerely Princess. Without your help, all that we have achieved wouldn’t have been possible. She might never have known how she makes me feel and I shudder to think we may have gone a lifetime never confiding our feelings to each other. You have my gratitude.”

“We are _family._ ” The way she said it carried that hint of implication he had become familiar with. “And from everything I have heard if your position in life was different – I would be calling the Lady in question family as well.” When he grinned, she mimicked it, reflecting the same lopsided quirk back at one another. Striking a resemblance of far closer relations than Uncle and Niece. “No thanks is necessary, I was honoured to play a part in your wooing. Besides, I like knowing I am not the only romantic Lannister.” 

“Seven Hells! Don’t make a habit of saying that. I have a notorious reputation to uphold. If anyone ever finds out I wrote sonnets I may never be able to show my face at court again - and not just due to your Mother's ire.” 

“Then my lips are sealed on the subject – because I would miss you if you ever departed King’s Landing. There are very few people with whom I have found a rapport.” 

“Likewise.” He straightened his posture, a thousand confessions running through his mind. Admittance of his many wrongs and coming clean to the young woman before him. His daughter. His child. 

_A conversation for another time._

“I will not detain you any longer Your Grace.” The White Knight bowed formally. “I hope the ball is all you hope for it to be and extend my greetings to Trystane.” 

He made for the door when her tinkling voice stopped him. Rising and falling with amusement and mischief. 

“You can do that yourself Uncle Jaime. My betrothed is staying for a couple of weeks and I cannot wait for you to meet him….” A pause. “…in fact, do you know of anyone who would be willing to show him around the Red Keep? You are too busy with the Kingsguard but perhaps a fellow guest could help him become acquainted with the layout? I am thinking that another warrior could put him at ease, make him feel more at home. And if he bonded with said person, then we would have the perfect excuse to all meet for dinner.”

Jaime’s jaw dropped, left hand gripping the doorknob as he turned to face the scheming, brilliant mastermind. Myrcella stood, hands clasped, affecting innocence but wearing that same inherited smirk. “What do you think?”

<3 <3 <3 <3 <3

Jaime was still dumbfounded by the mastery of his daughter’s machinations as he unfastened the last straps of his armour. The greave clattering to the floor as he slouched in relief, finally free of their weight and his responsibilities for the day. It had taken an age to remove all his own plate, but he had not wanted Lewys and Peck poking around the White Sword Tower. The chances were far too high that they could sniff out another Squire going about his covert delivery. Instead he played the generosity angle, telling them both that could have the day off to enjoy the occasion. Fully realising that in Peck’s case, that meant a reprieve from chores for Pia as well. 

_Let them frolic, they should be together. The Seven know that is the only place I want to be. With my woman._

His thoughts turned to Brienne, located somewhere in the vast stronghold. More than likely avoiding the nauseating pomp of the ball just like him. When it came to these decisions, it was evident how exceedingly well-suited they were to each other. Two of a kind more at home in a battlefield than at a banquet. 

In the initial days after her recovery, departure was the stubborn Wench’s sole focus. Keen to recommence her search for Lady Sansa and fulfil both their vows. But her next destination was to be the Vale and news from travellers was that heavy snows had made the mountain roads impassable, leaving her with no choice but to wait out Winter in the capital. 

It was only in hindsight that Jaime could acknowledge the extent to which he adored having her close-by, the way he had come to rely on her stable presence. How for several weeks the time he spent with her had become the bright, highpoint of his days. It was always love and he should have seen it, recognised it, acted on it sooner. But at least he could take comfort in the fact that the realisation had come, with the most precise and fortuitous of timing. 

_I wonder if she has returned to her chamber yet._

He pictured her cerulean eyes, clear and calm as a summer sky – the way they would widen in surprise when she discovered her bedroom had been infiltrated yet again. 

He pondered how she would respond to the offer of becoming Tystane’s chaperone for the duration of his visit. Whether she would welcome a task to keep her occupied and if the concept of becoming acquainted with one of his children through the act would be agreeable to her as well. 

_If Brienne were my wife, technically she would become Myrcella’s stepmother..._

The three short knocks against timber was like music to his ears and he leapt to fetch the door with more zeal than a boy on his nameday. His enthusiasm well warranted when he beheld the large box awaiting him in the hall.

_She got me a present… and it’s not a small one either. Though, unfortunately not quite sizeable enough to harbour a Wench within. More’s the pity, I should have liked her to be delivered straight to my bedchamber._

He chortled to himself, pulling it over the threshold, finding a way to manoeuvre it up, balanced upon hands of flesh and gold. 

After some juggling, he managed to slide it onto the table. Lifting the lid with curious glee. 

Whatever his surprise could be, it was covered by a sheet of velvet. The small note of parchment placed neatly on the top, directly in his line of vision. Brienne’s clear script written on the outside.

**_Note first; then present._ **

****

_She knows me too well._

Playfully pouting he broke the seal. Not in the slightest bit disappointed to have word from his beloved but enjoying the continuation of their banter even when they were in separate locations. A connection which could span distances. He could just see her standing with her arms crossed, adorable little line creasing between her brows as she supervised him to make sure he obeyed the rules. 

_I will abide, my love._

He flattened out the page, admiring the calligraphy of her penmanship for the last time, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards when he began to focus on the words themselves.

**_Although from today I shelf my quill,_ **

**_Instead of an end, I see a start,_ **

**_Of the life which we lead together,_ **

**_For you are my husband, in my heart –_ **

****

**_Other Maids may give a favour,_ **

**_Pin a silken handkerchief to your chest,_ **

**_But I would be in your hand as you practice,_ **

**_At your hip, when you’re at rest –_ **

****

**_I bestow a symbol of my love and ‘Faith,’_ **

**_Along with my everlasting oath,_ **

**_That I am yours – body and soul,_ **

**_To you Jaime, I pledge my troth –_ **

****

**_The wedding vows state, to sanctify love, a kiss becomes its seal,_ **

**_So with each clash of grating metal, consecrate us with this steel…._ **

**_Faithfully, Anon._ **

****

Whipping away the velvet cover, all Jaime could do was gape and beam. Running fingers along the blue grip of the longsword, tracing the scripted engraving on the blade. 

“Faith.” He spoke the name into the open air, closing his hand around the hilt and brandishing it high. Marvelling as the light bounced across its length in long streaks, the gleaming play interchangeably revealing and concealing the word. “Come with me. There is another blade I want to introduce you to…” 

<3 <3 <3 <3 <3

Dressed comfortably in her boiled leathers, Brienne meandered through the halls making her way outside. The emptiness of the castle a stark contrast to the hustle and bustle hours earlier. 

Romantic melodies floated in the air from the grand ballroom, the sound resonating sweetly throughout the Keep and she resisted the urge to hum along even though there wasn’t anyone around to hear her. Growing up at Evenfall, she had always been fond of the sentimental songs and knew all the words by heart but she didn’t possess the courage to ever join in by singing aloud. 

Devotion tapped a merry rhythm against her thigh, keeping the beat for her as she descended the handful of stairs that led to the yard. Breathing deeply the aroma of crisp fresh air and basking in the sheer beauty of the scene. 

_The ambience is spellbinding. The soulful notes against the backdrop of snowfall. Could there be anything more sublime?_

****

“At last we meet. Right time, right place.” Jaime’s voice was silky, his notes rolling over her in seductive waves. Speech transformed to symphony by the accompanying backdrop of music. She rotated towards the sound, glowing with felicity as she glimpsed her beloved. 

The lion Lord sat upon a low stone bench, tiny white flakes dusting his blonde hair. His verdant eyes sparkling as he drank in the sight of her, left hand absentmindedly toying with the blue pommel of the longsword lying across his knees. Her inhale hitched in her throat. 

_It is the first time we have really seen each other in the daylight, admitting that we are an ‘us’ and all that we have become. The proof of our exchanges in plain sight – but only we know what they mean._

He followed her line of vision, grinning at her with teeth that matched the snow. “Ah, I see you’ve noticed my new practice sword. Nice isn’t it?”

“It has its charm.” She countered, her footfalls crunching in the frost beneath her boots as she approached him. “But I have a new blade too and I would wager it is the finer.” 

“Really?” He teased, feigning surprise. “Well there is only one way we can settle this.”

Taking up his weapon, he sprang to his feet with the agility of a cat. “May I have this dance My Lady?” 

She drew her own steel from its scabbard, falling into battle stance as they circled around one another. “With pleasure My Lord.” 

In precise harmony they stepped forward, the swell of music drifting from the castle providing an overture to their own version of a waltz. Two pairs of feet cross-stepping with a grace equivalent to the twirling couples in the ballroom. 

Then he surged forward and she met him in kind. Thrust connecting with parry. The metallic ringing echoing throughout the grounds, reverberating off the walls and carried back to their ears. The first kiss of Faith and Devotion. 

They locked eyes before stepping back, unspoken acknowledgment birthing a tangible euphoria as they repositioned their swords, ready to kiss again. 

From that moment forward their swings came in a flurry. The passionate clashing of the blades reminiscent of their nocturnal tryst. Lunging for each other again and again, bodies moving almost as one, their weapons an extension of their arms and selves. 

Brienne wanted to laugh and cry all at the same. Feeling the power of their fervour manifesting itself through their duel. The intensity of the shared emotion feeding into one another’s lust for battle and each other. 

Jaime aimed to dislodge her blade, Faith trilling against Devotion as their edges collided, Brienne side stepping to snare his wrist with her own, tangled swords and arms creating a deadlock, where neither could break away. 

Using their impasse to his advantage he pulled her closer, faces an inch apart, appearing to the whole world like two deadly warriors ensnared in an even match.

But his gentle countenance spoke differently, a tenderness in his eyes she had not witnessed before. Pupils darting as they searched her own, staring up into her blue marbles. 

“I love you.” Jaime whispered. The movement of his mouth subtle, the syllables forming faintly on his tongue. A declaration for her ears only. The spoken recognition to her face that she was his soulmate. 

Brienne blinked away the mist that was forming in her field of vision, capturing every detail of the moment in her memory. The quintessence of romance, enveloping two hearts that complimented one another perfectly. She edged just a fraction closer, to where she could feel the warmth of his hot breath wash over her cheek, the tickle of it against her parted lips, humming with the charged static of his proximity as she softly murmured. “I love you too.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There we have it folks! As promised, this tale was completed by the end of February. :)  
> I want to thank everyone who read and commented. What began as a bit of Valentine's fluff and fun soon became a fic I absolutely adored writing and I was touched by all the encouragement I received (sonnets and all, LOL). I appreciate every word I hear from my readers and will be sure to respond to each message soon.  
> I have more tales planned for the not too distant future, so be sure to subscribe or check back often.  
> Alternatively, feel free to message me on Tumblr @nightreaderenigma - I love to chat!  
> Until next time! Hugs and a belated Happy Valentines Day!  
> <3 Madelyn


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